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BOYS' AND GIRLS' 



SCRAP-BOOK. 



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PHILADELPHIA : 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

Ho. 146 CHESTXUT STREET. 

HEW YORK: No. 147 NASSAU ST BOSTON: No. 9 CORNH1LL. 

LOUISVILLE: No. 103 FOURTH ST. 






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Entered according to Act of Congress in the year ltf;32, by the 

AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 

Pennsylvania. 



JOGr- No bonis are published by the American Sunday-sciiool Union 
withmd the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of four- 
teen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. Bap- 
tut, Methodist, Con.gregationalist, Episcopal, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and 
Reformed. Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the same 
denomination, and no book com be published to which any member of the 
Committee shall object. 







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CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Boys and Bubbles 9 

Edward Colton . 19 

The Mother's Last Lesson 27 

Behaviour at Church 31 

The Stage Driver 32 

Nothing Lost by Civility 37 

Letter from China 38 

A Child Invited to Jesus 44 

Come to Jesus 45 

A Beautiful Story 46 

The Strength of a Kind Word 49 

I'm not too Young 50 

The Almond Blossom 50 

Hymn 52 

God is with Me... 52 

Be Honest to Every One 53 

The One Cherished Sin 58 

Phoebe and the Plums 59 

A Little Thing 61 

Mother, sing Jerusalem ! 63 

A Little Boy's Faith 64 

The Missionary Bridge 65 

Louis Philippe 67 

1* 5 



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6 CONTENTS. 

PA«E 

A Boy Instructing a Man of Seventy G9 

Prayer , 70 

What is Benevolence 71 

Trust God and do Good 77 

Margaret 79 

A Word to Little Girls 81 

Autumn Leaves . 82 

The Way-Side Flower 84 

Bread on the Waters 85 

Keep Trying 86 

The Boys and the Mayor 86 

How to be Great 88 

Make Yourself 90 

The Well-ordered Household 92 

To-Day and To-Morrow 100 

Fireside Story about Honesty 101 

James B. Jones 104 

An Odd Thought 106 

Only One Brick after Another 107 

The Call 108 

The Forgiving School-Boy 109 

The Tree that Never Fades 110 

Only this Once Ill 

Be Kind to your Mother 113 

Youthful Piety 116 

Example for Boys 117 

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CONTENTS. 7 

PAQB 

The Small Plants and Little Children 118 

The Boys and the Ball 119 

James Simpson 120 

Advice to Children 124 

The Green Pastures 125 

My Mother 126 

The Twin Daughters 127 

The Boy and his Angel 129 

They Shall not Blush for their Father 133 

Reverence for Age 135 

Honour thy Father and thy Mother 136 

The Heavenly Lamb 139 

Lilly in the Sulks 143 

Early to Bed and Early to Rise 148 

The Crocodile .'. 149 

President Polk at College .*. 154 

Two Stories of the Blind 156 

The Young Soldier 161 

Common Mercies 162 

The Broken Glass 163 

I will Try 167 

The Miser's Daughter 168 

Elder Withers' Young Folks 169 

Am I my Brother's Keeper? 173 

Letter to a Little Girl 174 

Hard Reading 178 




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THE 

BOYS' AND GIRLS' SCRAP-BOOK 



BOYS AND BUBBLES. 

Bright, beautiful, — and it burst ! 

The mother looked on with half sad, half 
pleased emotions as the children were blowing- 
bubbles on the floor. They were her only 
children. A little infant had been taken from 
her a few weeks before. The kind Shepherd 
had a place for it in his safe and pleasant fold, 
and he removed it thither. She was disap- 
pointed, but she did not murmur. There were 
duties to other children which she could not neg- 
lect, and to enter into their joys and sympa- 
thize with their little griefs was not one of the 
least of these duties. 

Charley was great at blowing soap-bubbles. 
Some boys have a knack for the business, and 
others blow away, hour after hour, with very 
poor success. But our little friend would take 
his bowl of water, rub the soap in it, beat it up 
well, so that the little bubbles stood all over the 

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10 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

top of it, and then dipping up a little of the 
foam in the new pipe that he had bought for 
the purpose, he clapped it to his mouth with 
the air of a man who is about to fill a balloon. 
Gently he breathes into it, and the film rises 
and widens. The thin globe expands. The 
sunlight falls on it, and the walls and windows 
are reflected from its brilliant sides. Larger 
and larger it grows. Gently ! Charley, gently ! 
His left hand rises, as if he feared it would 
break if he did not steady it. Mary holds her 
breath, and looks on with silent wonder and 
delight ! Larger and larger ! Dear me, how 
beautiful, how big, how bright— and — there ! it 
bursts into thin air, and is gone for ever ! 

They were only bubbles. But there was fun 
in seeing them grow. There was fun in making 
them. Charley loved to make them, and loved 
to please Mary in making them ; and the mo- 
ther had her pleasure in looking on while the 
children were happy at their play. 

A few days after this soap-bubble afternoon, 
Charley was making pleasant calculations on 
an excursion with his father and a party of 
friends, to a lake some ten or a dozen miles 
from home, where they were to have great sport 
in sailing and fishing. He had told all his 
young playmates of the promised pleasure, and 
they had wished to have the privilege of being 
added to the number of the party. But as 
Charley was the only boy that was to go along, 
his own importance was increased greatly in 

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BOYS AND BUBBLES. 11 

his own estimation, and he thought it must be 
that he was the happiest boy in all the world. 

The w r eek that must pass by before the great 
day of sailing and fishing came on was the 
longest week of all that had ever been past in 
Charley's short life. The days were so slow in 
going by, that he sometimes feared there was 
to be no end to them, and that the day (for 
which, it seemed to him all other days of the 
w^eek were made) would never come. 

But if the time was so long, and the days 
grew longer as the wished-for event drew nigh, 
so the pleasure was the greater in anticipation. 
There never was such a treat in store for a boy 
— there never was so happy a fellow as our 
Charley — there was nothing in this world like 
going off on a fine summer-day for a fishing and 
sailing trip on a beautiful lake — and all this was 
to be his, just as sure as next Saturday came. 

So he thought, and so it would have proved, 
very likely, if he had not worried so much 
about it that on Friday night he was taken 
sick, first with a terrible headache that he said 
nothing about, till a high fever set in, and be- 
fore morning they had to send for the doctor. 

It was very plain that Charley could not be 
out of bed the next day, and his father re- 
mained at home, while the rest of the party 
w T ent off to the lake and had grand sport, as 
they expected, the report of which they brought 
home with them, and recited to Charley's 
father in the evening, while the sick bov lav in 

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12 BOYS AND GIRLS' SCRAP-BOOK. 

the other room and heard it, groaning and 
grunting that his bubble had burst just as it was 
full-blown. 

Mr. Mason, the father of Charley, desired 
to improve every thing of this sort, by making 
a good impression on the mind of his son ; and 
so, on the Sabbath that followed this great dis- 
appointment, his father took occasion to show 
Charley that many of the expectations of 
youth would turn out just as his hopes for the 
pleasures of Saturday had. 

"The pleasure was very bright and promis- 
ing. Like the bubbles that you were blowing on 
the floor a few days ago, these hopes are beau- 
tiful ; and the longer you look at them, the 
brighter they appear. But they burst as soon." 

Charley was thoughtful, and for some mi- 
nutes he sat without saying a word. But as he 
was in the habit of talking very freely with his 
father, he soon asked him if it had been so 
with him, since he had grown to be a man ? 

Mr. Mason was much pleased with his chil- 
dren when they asked him any question that 
showed they were disposed to think, and desired 
to be instructed in what was useful. He told 
Charley that if he wanted to hear a story about 
bubbles, he would tell him one in the evening, 
when he came home from church ; but there 
would not be so much to please him as he had 
found in his sport a few days before. As it 
was the Sabbath-day, he could not expect his 
father to amuse him, but he knevf that he could 



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BOYS AND BUBBLES. 13 

please and teach him, and, therefore, he waited 
with some impatience for the promised hour to 
come. 

It was a very pleasant evening — a summer 
Sabbath-evening in the country, when the hush 
of nature seems to fall in with the sacredness 
of the day, and the very leaves and flowers and 
fields all rest, as man ought to rest, and does 
rest when he hears and obeys the voice of God. 
Mr. Mason was sitting in the door of his plea- 
sant cottage, over which the creepers were 
climbing to make a little shade, and Charley 
was on the step below where his father sat. 
Mary was by his side, and Mrs. Mason had 
joined her husband, so that the whole family 
group was complete, and in such a free and 
easy way as the family group is often gathered 
in the country, especially of a Sunday evening. 

"Now about those bubbles!" said Charley, 
looking up pleasantly to his father. 

"Bubbles! bubbles!" said Mary; "not bub- 
bles on Sunday." 

" No, no, Mary dear," — Charley said w T ith a 
smile, — "we are not going to play bubbles, but 
father promised to tell me a story that had 
something in it about bubbles, and I am want- 
ing to hear it. Please now keep still a little, 
while father talks." 

Mr. Mason began — 

" I was not as old as Charles now is, when I 
began to blow bubbles, and some people may 



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14 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



"Father blow bubbles !" tittered Mary, but 
Charles checked her. 

" You laugh at the thought of my blowing 
them, and so you may ; but you will understand 
it better w T hen you grow older and wiser. The 
lesson that Charles learned yesterday, when all 
the fondest hopes of a pleasant day were so 
suddenly blighted, was a lesson that I learned 
very much in the same way; but it was not so 
deeply impressed upon me, but that I have 
been a hundred times since as much pleased 
with a bright vision of something that I hoped 
to enjoy. And that bright vision has faded 
away, and perhaps burst as suddenly as it 
formed. 

" In the early part of my life there were a 
thousand pleasures that seemed to me the most 
delightful enjoyments which the world could 
give. My father was a man of wealth, and 
was willing to give me the means to purchase 
whatever I wished, to increase the pleasures of 
life ; and living in the city, where there was no 
end to the variety of amusements, I was gay 
and thoughtless, a pleasure-seeker, finding my 
highest pleasure in running from one place of 
amusement to another, and never satisfied with 
any. The very excess of them sickened me. 
" I went home one night after a late supper with 
a party of young friends, and I was rolling on 
a sleepless bed, when the thought came over 
me, ' What is all this that I am doing, when I 
have, as yet, done nothing for this world or the 




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BOYS AND BUBBLES. 15 

world to come. I am running after pleasure 
as if that was what a man is to live here for, 
but I have an immortal soul, which must be 
saved or lost. It will be lost if I trifle away 
my life as I have begun, and what a fool must 
I be to spend my time in follies that are even 
now sickening, when eternity is yet to be 
secured !' 

" The bubble burst in a moment ! I felt that 
I could not spend the rest of my days as I 
had begun, and that I must seek for something 
more substantial, if I would make a good foun- 
dation for this world and the world to come. 
My father was the head of a large shipping 
house, one of the most extensive mercantile es- 
tablishments in New York, and he was not a 
little pleased when I proposed to him to settle 
down in business. He gave me a place in his 
counting-room, and, after two years of close at- 
tention to business, he took me into the concern 
with a share in the profits. At this time I was 
just twenty-two years of age. The years of 
my apprenticeship had been far more profitable 
and pleasant than those I spent before in the 
pursuit of pleasure, but they had not been em- 
ployed in seeking any thing beyond the know- 
ledge of what would fit me to buy and sell and 
get gain. This I did learn, and was not afraid 
to match myself with any one of my years. 
And now, ' to make money' seemed to me the 
' chief end of man.' I was the first at the of- 
fice and the last to quit it — a model to the 



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! i 16 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



clerks, and the pride of the masters. I was 
getting rich, even without reckoning the riches 
of my father, on which I had calculated before, 
when I was doing nothing. And so a few years 
were spent in business, during which I learned 
to think that a man was happy and respectable 
just in proportion to the amount of money he 
had. I had never looked into the distant rela- 
tions of our business, leaving that to my father 
and the senior partners, who had for a long 
series of years managed it with great success, 
and, as the world supposed, with the greatest 
prudence. 

u But one evening, at home, when I had not 
the least thought of any such announcement, 
my father informed me that the concern was 
in trouble, and he was afraid they would not 
be able to get through. I could not believe it, 
and, indeed, could hardly understand, and it 
would not be worth while for me to explain 
to you, how all this was to come ; but it did, 
and in less than three months from the time 
that my father first informed me of our dangers, 
our commercial house was broken up, my father 
was a ruined man, and I was out of business 
and out of money ! 

" That bubble burst, and there was nothing 
left— absolutely nothing to call my own. What 
shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world 
and lose his soul ? But I had lost the world, 
and had not yet taken a single step toward 
saving my soul. 



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BOYS ANB BUBBLES. 17 

" I had some excellent friends, and they had 
been so well pleased with my attention to busi- 
ness and the capacity I had shown for it, that 
they proposed to me to become a candidate for 
an office in the city, of some honour and profit. 
I was pleased with the prospect of both, and 
there was a necessity for me to do something, 
and that too, at once. With all the ardour of 
my nature, and excited by the struggles of 
others that were around me, it was but a little 
while before I was as much immersed in poli- 
tics as I had ever been in pleasure or business. 
The office for which I was striving seemed like 
a prize of priceless worth. It engaged all my 
thoughts by night and by day, and I laboured 
for it as if my life and the welfare of my 
country depended on the result. And when 
the day of the election came, I was beaten out of 
sight, by a man of no character or claims, but 
who proved to have a way of getting votes that 
I had not, and, without making any great noise 
about it, he had managed to win the day. And 
so that bubble burst ! 

" While all these lessons had been put before 
me to learn, I had often been amused to see that 
other men were disappointed in their schemes, 
rushing into great speculations that turned out 
miserably — deceiving themselves and others 
with hopes that were as wild and idle as the 
dreams of children ; but it never occurred to 
me that my own calculations were just as likely 
to be blown up as any of them. 

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18 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



" Then I gave up the chase. I was now 
thirty years old,- — not much older, but much wiser 
than when I entered into business. Quitting 
the city, and finding work to do out here that 
was to my mind, I became a resident of this 
quiet town. Here I found your mother, and 
here we found the 6 pearl of great price/ which 
has been to us more than wealth, or all the 
pleasures which this world can give. Now, 
Charles, do you understand me when I say that 
I have been blowing bubbles almost all my 
life ?" 

" Yes, sir, I do; but you are not blowing them 
now, are you ?" 

" Not now, my son. I have learned that 
there is nothing on earth that will not fade or 
burst. Our best loved friends, parents, chil- 
dren, all will die. Riches will fail us. But 
your mother and I have been seeking to lay up 
treasures in heaven. By-and-by this earth will 
be burned up. The blue heavens will pass 
away. All these things will be dissolved. Like 
bubbles, they will burst and be gone. If you 
are wise, my son, you will never set your heart 
supremely on any thing that will perish." 

Charles and Mary often blew soap-bubbles 
after that, but never without thinking of the 
lesson their father taught them that pleasant 
Sabbath evening. 



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EDWARD COLTON. 19 



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EDWARD COLTON. 

" I HAVE been thinking that I ought to join 
the church,'' said Edward Colton to his father 
as they were walking home from the evening 
service. 

Mr. Colton was not surprised at this remark. 
He had observed for some time past that his 
son had been very thoughtful, and he had 
known that he was very strict in attending to 
his religious duties. Mrs. Colton had talked 
with Edward very freely, and he had told her his 
feelings, with all the frankness and confidence 
of a child. 

Mrs. Colton had seen that Edward was dis- 
posed to read his Bible and good books while 
the others were at play, and sometimes he 
would come in and sit down on the ottoman 
near her feet, and lean his head upon her knee, 
as if he were not well. She asked him what 
was the matter ; and though at first he was 
slow to speak of his feelings, he at length told 
her that he was anxious about his soul. She 
gave him all the counsel that she could, and 
read to him several passages in the New Testa- 
ment, to encourage him to put his trust in the 
Saviour. 

"Edward, my son," said Mrs. Colton, " do 
you feel that you have sinned against God ?" 

" Oh yes, mother; I am a great sinner, and 



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20 boys' and girls' scrap-book. , 

that is what makes me feel so bad now. I know 
I am very wicked, and I am sure that God does 
not love me." 

Mrs. Colton leaned her head upon her son's, 
as he rested on her knee, and tears fell on 
him, as she wept with him on account of his 
distress. 

" And yet, my clear child, God is more will- 
ing to forgive you, than you are to be forgiven. 
If you are sorry that you have broken God's 
law and provoked his displeasure, you may be 
sure that he is waiting and willing to have 
mercy on you, for the sake of Jesus Christ." 

" Mother, please to tell me more of that — 
for the sake of Jesus Christ ?" 

"So I will, my son; I love to speak of it. 
The Son of God has died on the cross for sin- 
ners. If he had not suffered, you could not be 
saved. If you will now repent of your sins, 
and turn to God with all your heart, believing, 
that is, trusting in the dear Saviour who died, 
your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, 
and make you his own dear child. Is this 
plain ?" 

" Very plain. But I am afraid that he 
will not hear me when I pray. I am only a 
little boy." 

" Yes, you are only a little boy, but you are 
a sinner, and the Lord Jesus died for sinners, 
just such as you are. Now go up-stairs into 
your bedroom, and there pray to God to for- 
give your sins for the sake of Christ. Tell him 



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EDWARD COLTON. 21 



your sorrows, and ask him to give you a new 
heart, and to prepare you to serve him and love 
him." 

After such conversation as this, Edward went 
to his room, and prayed. He did not find re- 
lief to his mind that day, but he persevered, 
day after day, till at last he had a sweet hope 
that God had heard his prayers and pardoned 
his sins. It was a few days after this, that he 
told his father that he had been thinking of 
joining the church. 

Mr. Colton knew very well that Edward's 
mind had been very much interested in the sub- 
ject of late, and he was therefore prepared to 
hear him speak of it, and was glad that he had 
introduced the subject himself. 

" And why do you think that you ought to 
join the church ?" 

" Because I would like to have all the boys 
know that I mean to be a Christian ; and it 
seems to me that the Saviour tells us to come 
to the communion." 

" Do you mean that you think the Saviour 
commands all those who would be his follow- 
ers to own him before men as their Saviour, 
and come to his table and testify their faith in 
him?" 

"Yes, sir, that is the way I feel. I want 
to take the bread and wine in the Lord's sup- 
per, and I thought I would speak to you about 
it. 

" I am very glad you have. If you are 





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22 boys' and girls' scrap-book. j 

willing to be known as a child of God and to 
take your place among the members of the 
church, I shall be glad to talk to you on the 
subject. Do you feel willing to forsake sin 
and every evil way, and devote yourself to the 
service of God?" 

" Yes, sir, I mean to do so as long as I live." 

" But your young companions will be very 
likely to make fun of you, and you may soon 
be ashamed of your profession, and be sorry 
that you have made it." 

"I am not afraid of them. I have been 
talking to a good many of them, and some of 
them say they wish they were Christians, and 
I think all of them wish so, if they don't say 
so." 

" But, my son, you ought to love God with 
all your heart, and you ought to love Chris- 
tians, and love everybody. Do you feel that 
you love others as well as you love yourself?" 

" I think I do love God, and I try to love all 
the people ; but I sometimes think I may not 
feel as I ought to; but I feel very different from 
what I did a few weeks ago." 

" Try to tell me in what respects you feel 
differently." 

" Why, then I did not love to pray or read 
the Bible, but now I do. I love to go to church 
and hear of Christ and heaven, and I want to 
live for him as long as I do live." 

Edward had been a thoughtful boy, and it 
was plain to his father that he had not been sud- 



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EDWARD C0LT0N. 23 

clenly excited by a new notion that would soon 
pass over. In his infancy Edward had been 
devoted to God, and had been brought up in the 
fear of the Lord. He had been taught the 
catechism, and had learned much of the Bible, 
which he was in the habit of repeating at the 
evening fireside to his mother, who was at once 
his companion and teacher. 

It was not strange that the good seed, thus 
early and carefully sown, should spring up and 
bear good fruit. The child who had made the 
truths of God's word his study, was now led by 
the Holy Spirit to embrace the truth with all 
his heart. 

A few Sabbaths after, he was received into 
the communion of the church. It was a very 
interesting and a very solemn scene when this 
youthful disciple came out before the great con- 
gregation and made a public profession of re- 
ligion. He had not acted hastily in the matter. 
It had been on his mind for many weeks. He 
had counted the cost, and was prepared. 

On the morning of the Sabbath when he was 
to be received into the church, he had a great 
struggle in his mind. He began to tremble, 
lest he had been deceived ; and then he was 
afraid that he had been too hasty in coming to 
a decision. 

He went away into his bedroom, and there 
prayed very earnestly that God would direct 
him in this hour of his doubt. He gave him- 
self up to God again and again, and desired to 




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be his for ever. When he rose from his knees 
he felt a sweet sense of his acceptance with 
God, and he was greatly encouraged to go 
forward. He then went to his mother and 
said— 

" I have been afraid that I am not fit to join 
the church, mother, and I do not know but I 
had better wait." , 

" No, you are not fit, my son ; and if you 
wait till you are fit, I am afraid that you never 
will. It is not those who are fit, but those who 
feel they are unworthy, and who desire grace to 
fit them for such a service, that are invited to 
come to the table of the Lord. You feel that 
you are unworthy, do you not, my son ?" 

" I do ; I am such a great sinner that I do 
not feel as if I ought to join myself to the 
church ; but the more I think of Christ and good 
people, the more I love them, and the more I 
want to be on their side." 

" You need not be afraid, my son. If you 
truly love the Saviour, he will give you strength, 
not only to go through what is before you to- 
day, but what is far more difficult, to live as a 
Christian ought to live afterward." 

" Will you pray for me, mother, that I may 
live as I ought to live ?." 

. " Certainly I will ; and let us pray together 



now." 



They kneeled down together, the mother and 
child, and she asked the Saviour to be near and 
strengthen her child that day and always. Ed- 



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EDWARD COLTON. 25 

ward prayed too. He joined in her petitions, 
and followed with words of his own, and with 
tears, for his heart swelled within him, and he 
could scarcely speak. 

Edward walked with his parents to the house 
of God, and sat with calmness through the 
services, till the pastor said that those who had 
been examined for admission to the church 
would now present themselves. He stepped out 
of the seat, and stood with a few others in the 
broad aisle, while the profession and the solemn 
promises were read, to which he gave his assent 
in the fulness of his young and tender heart. 
The tears were streaming down his cheeks as 
he returned and took his seat between his father 
and mother. 

For the first time he was now with them at 
the communion-table. Often before, on such 
occasions, when he was sitting in another part 
of the church, he had felt that the same separa- 
tion might be made in the world to come — he 
might be compelled to go away from them ! 
The thought was dreadful to him, but now he 
was happy in being permitted to unite with 
them, and he thought it would be just so in 
heaven. 

There were many of the boys in church who 
had long known Edward, and they thought that 
if any one was good enough (as they said) to join 
the church, he was. They wished they were 
as well prepared as he. Instead of being dis- 
posed to laugh at him, they felt the importance 

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26 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

of doing just what he had now done ; but they 
knew very well they must forsake their sins first, 
and turn to God. Some of them resolved that 
very day that they would begin without any de- 
lay to seek the salvation of their souls. 

There may be some young persons reading 
this sketch of Edward Colton, who have never 
yet sought the Lord ; to them let me say a word 
or two. My dear young friends, you think that 
you ought to be Christians ; but can you tell me 
why you are not ? Have you ever felt truly 
sorry for your sins ? Do you feel sorry for 
them now, and earnestly desire to have them 
forgiven for the sake of Christ ? You should 
at once, without any delay, put your trust in 
the Saviour ; believe in him who is able and 
willing to forgive all your sins ; and then seek 
to join yourselves to the people of God. So 
Edward Colton felt, and so he acted. He found 
great peace and comfort in thus making a pro- 
fession of religion. It did not make him any 
better, but it was a source of great joy to him to 
be permitted to celebrate with others the dying 
love of the Redeemer, to whom he had devoted 
his life. From that hour he felt himself more 
completely given up to the service of God. 
" Ye are not your own ; ye are bought with a 
price," were the words which the pastor preach- 
ed from on that day ; and Edward felt that the 
precious Saviour had given his life a ransom for 
him, and he must live for one who had died that 
he might live. 



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1 



THE MOTHER'S LAST LESSON. 27 



THE MOTHER'S LAST LESSON. 

" Will you please teach me my verse, mo- 
ther, and then kiss me, and bid me good night ?" 

said little Roger L , as he opened the door 

and peeped cautiously into the chamber of his 
sick mother. u I am very sleepy, but no one 
has heard me say my prayers." 

Mrs. L was very ill indeed. Her attend- 
ants believed her to be dying. She sat prop- 
ped up with pillows, and struggling for breath ; 
her lips were white ; her eyes were growing 
dull and glazed ; and her purple blood was set- 
tling under the nails of the cold, attenuated 
fingers. She was a widow, and little Roger 
was her only — her darling child. Every night 
he had been in the habit of coming into her 
room, and sitting in her lap, or kneeling by her 
side, while she repeated passages from God's 
holy word, or related to him stories of the wise 
and good men spoken of in its pages. She 
had been in delicate health for many years, but 
never too ill to hear little Roger's verse and 
prayers. 

" Hush! hush !" said a lady who was watch- 
ing beside her couch. " Your dear mother is 
too ill to hear you to-night !" As she said this, 
she came forward, and laid her hand gently on 
his arm, as if she would lead him from the room. 



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28 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

Roger began to sob as if his little heart would 
break. 

"I cannot go to bed without saying my 
prayers — indeed I cannot." 

The ear of the dying mother caught the 
sound. Although she had been nearly insensi- 
ble to every thing transpiring around her, the 
sobs of her darling roused her from her stupor, 
and turning to a friend, she desired her to bring 
her little son, and lay him in her bosom. Her 
request was granted, and the child's rosy cheek 
and golden head nestled beside the pale, cold 
face of his dying mother. Alas, poor fellow ! 
how little did he realize then the irreparable 
loss which he was soon to sustain ! 

" Roger, my son, my darling child," said the 
dying woman, " repeat this verse after me, and 
never, never forget it :- — ' When my father and 
mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me 
up.' " The child repeated it two or three times 
distinctly, and said his little prayer. Then he 
kissed the cold, almost rigid features beside 
him, and went quietly to his little couch. The 
next morning he sought his mother, as usual, 
but he found her — a corpse wrapped in the 
winding-sheet, and ready for the grave ! 

This was her last lesson. He has never for- 
gotten it, — he probably never will. He has 
grown to be a man — a good man, and now 
occupies a post of much honour and profit in 
Massachusetts. I never could look upon him 
without thinking about the faith so beautifully 

cFbjD — " — , " — ; — . ClJ~^ 



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THE MOTHER'S LAST LESSON. 29 



exhibited by his dying mother. It was not 
misplaced — the Lord has taken her darling up. 

My dear reader, if you have God for your 
friend, you need never fear. Father and mo- 
ther may forsake you, the world may seem to 
you like a dreary waste, full of thorns and pit- 
falls; but he can bring you safely through 
trials, and give you a golden harp and snowy 
robe, like those the justified wear in heaven. 
He can even surround your death-bed by angel 
visitants. " He is all-powerful, an ever-present 
help in time of trouble." Will you not then 
seek his friendship ? This you can never gain 
unless you keep his commandments. " If you 
love me," said the Saviour, " keep my com- 
mandments." Do you keep these ? Do you 
not only "abstain from evil," but from all 
" appearance of evil?" 

These are solemn and soul-searching ques- 
tions. If you are compelled by truth to answer 
them in the negative, will you not change your 
course and begin to-day to live for God ? Per- 
haps some very little boy or girl may read this 
story of little Roger, and turn away from the re- 
flections here at the close, saying, " I am too 
young to become a Christian yet ; by-and-by I 
will keep all God's commandments, and be very 
good indeed." My little friend, you are not too 
young to die. Perhaps you may not live to fulfil 
your design of becoming a Christian in some 
future hour. Better begin now I Trust me 

when I say to you, you are not too young. This 

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30 boys' and girls 7 scrap-book. 

world is a wide one, and it is full of wickedness. 
God has called it in the Bible his vineyard, and 
he calls continually for labourers to come and 
work in it. Would you not like to work for a 
Master who will pay you with the gold of a 
happy heart in this world — yea, a in the life to 
come,'' will give you a place close to his great 
white throne, in that beautiful world, the glories 
of which " eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, 
neither has it entered into the heart of man to 
conceive, though God hath revealed them to us 
by his Spirit ?" Or will you work for that wicked 
one, who will pay you with groans and gnashing 
of teeth, and " everlasting burnings?" who 
will delight in making your path in this life full 
of bitter memories, and in the " life to come" 
terrible indeed ! 

I am very earnest in this important matter, 
and I wish you to make a wise choice now ; one 
that you will not regret having made, through- 
out the endless ages of eternity. You cannot 
be an idler, young though you be. If you do 
not work for God, believe me, you are working 
for Satan. What a fearful thought ! 




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BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH. 31 



BEHAVIOUR AT CHURCH. 

When, safe preserved from week to week, 
You seek God's house of prayer, 

Do not with vain and worldly thoughts 
Presume to enter there. 

How oft the wand'ring eyes betray 

The heart unfix'd on heaven; 
E'en while with feigned lips you pray 

To have your sins forgiven ! 

'Tis not enough to bend the knee, 

The heartless voice to raise ; 
God is a Spirit, and requires 

The spirit's prayer and praise. 

He sees each secret of your heart, 
Though 'tis from man conceal' d ; 

Its pride, its vanity and guile 
Are all to him reveal'd. 

But if one humble wish is there, 

More of his will to know, 
You may be sure the God of love 

Will see and bless that too 

Then pray, when entering in his courts, 

That he will give you grace 
To hear, to read, to mark, to learn, 

And run the heavenly race. 



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32 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

THE STAGE-DRIVER. 

" What do you mean to do for a living when 
you come to be a man?" said Mr. Hedges, the 
school-master, to William Marsh, one evening, 
as they were sitting by Mr. Marsh's fireside. 

"I mean to be a stage-driver," was William's 
prompt, and, in manner, not very respectful 
reply. 

Mr. Hedges did not say any thing more to 
him. He asked the question with the hope that 
it might lead to some profitable conversation. 
He had noticed that William was very inatten- 
tive to his studies when at school ; and he was 
in hopes, now that he had come to board for a 
week at his father's, that he could induce him 
to feel more interested in the cultivation of his 
mind. The coarse reply to his question dis- 
couraged him altogether. Perhaps he was dis- 
couraged too soon. Perhaps, if he had perse- 
vered in his attempt, he might have awakened 
some feelings of desire or shame that w^ould 
have led William to pay more attention to his 
books. 

As Mr. Hedges was about to leave for an- 
other boarding-place, he took occasion to speak 
to William's mother respecting her son's inat- 
tention to his books, and to advise her to re- 
quire him to be more diligent. 

Mrs. P. replied that she had never known 
much good to come of book-learning. William 

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THE STAGE-DRIVER. 33 

was a smart boy for a bargain, and could drive 
the team as well as his father. 

The teacher came to the conclusion that Wil- 
liam would realize his purpose of becoming a 
stage-driver. 

In the same school was a boy named Joseph 
Reed, who was very fond of his books. He 
always stood at the head of his class in all their 
studies. He did not, perhaps, learn more easily 
than several other boys of his age, but he was 
diligent. He took his books home with him 
every night, and studied his lessons in the even- 
ing, when the other boys were at play. 

" Come, Joe," said William to him, one night 
after school, "let us go to Long Pond to- 
night, and have a good time skating." 

"I cannot do it," replied Joseph. 

"Why not?" 

"Because I cannot get my lesson if I do. 
Mr. Hedges told us he wanted us to learn the 
lesson he gave out as soon as we could." 

"Can't get your lesson!" said William, in a 
tone of contempt ; "what good will getting your 
lesson do you, do you think ? Nobody likes you 
any better for your fuss about your lessons, and 
a great many do not like you so well. John," 
said he to another boy, "will you go to the 
pond to-night?" 

" I am agreeable," said John, imitating the 
manner, as he repeated the words, of a lounger 
at the tavern, whose wit was the admiration of 
all the young candidates for ruin in the place. 




1 

34 BOYS* AND GIRLS' SCRAP-BOOK, 

Several other boys were asked, and consented 
to go. The prospect of a skating-party, on a 
bright moonlight night, was very tempting to 
Joseph. He loved skating very much, but not 
so much as he loved his book. He hastened 
home, carried in the wood, and took care of the 
sheep for the night, and sat down to his lesson. 
He soon mastered it, at least so far that he 
could see through it. He then took his skates, 
and ran to join the party who were going to the 
pond. They had assembled, but had not yet 
started. " There comes Joe," said one. 

"I asked him to go," said William, "and he 
would not go then, and now he sha'n't go." 

As William was somewhat of a bully, none of 
the boys liked to enter into a dispute with him. 
Besides, Joseph paid so much attention to study 
and reading, that he did not associate very much 
with the boys, and was not regarded as one of 
them. They therefore made no objection to 
William's authoritative declaration, and so poor 
Joseph had to go home, and forego the pleasure 
of trying his new skates on the glassy ice. 
Some reproachful and insulting words were 
uttered by William, but he paid no attention 
to them, and went home and comforted himself 
with his book. 

We will now pass over an interval of twelve 
years. Joseph had continued to cherish his 
love of knowledge. He had completed his col- 
legiate course, and had pronounced the vale- 
dictory on the day he graduated. He had 



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THE STAGE-DRIVER. 35 

become a teacher in a distinguished seminary, 
and was regarded as one of the most promising 
young men in the country. 

He was on his way to visit his parents. He 
left the steamboat at P., where he was to take 
the stage-coach. 

" Shall I take your trunk?" said a red-faced, 
scantily clothed young man, of about his own 
age. 

"I am going in the stage to M.," said Reed. 

" I am the driver that takes you there." 

He shouldered the trunk, and secured it on 
the stage, and then held open the door of the 
coach while Reed entered it. As he was clos- 
ing the door, Reed recognised in the driver his 
old school-mate, William Marsh ! He had be- 
come — what he told the schoolmaster he in- 
tended to become — a stage-driver. Yes, he was 
a poor, drunken, profane stage-driver ! 

I am not acquainted with the particulars of 
his downward course. His father wished to 
have him continue to work on the farm, and 
promised to give him a portion of it as soon as 
he was twenty-one ; but farming was too dull a 
business for him, So he ran away when he was 
about seventeen, and went into a neighbouring 
State, where he procured employment, at first 
as an hostler at a tavern, and then he soon 
reached the height of his ambition, as the driver 
of four horses before a stage-coach ! He soon 
formed intemperate habits ; and on one occa- 
sion, when he was intoxicated, he suffered the 

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36 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

horses to run away with the stage. There 
were no passengers in it at the time, or they 
would certainly have been killed ; for the coach 
was overturned, and fell down a ledge nearly 
twenty feet high. He jumped from his seat 
just before the coach went over, and escaped 
with a sprained ankle and a bruised face. 

He was then dismissed by his employer, and 
was obliged to return home. His father re- 
ceived him kindly, and tried to get him to go 
to work on the farm ; but in vain. He spent 
his time at the tavern in the village, till the 
landlord, (partly to get rid of him,) assisted him 
to a situation as a driver in a line of stages run- 
ning through the village. He was in that situ- 
ation when Joseph Reed landed at P., and took 
the stage for his native place. 

My young reader, what do you intend to be 
when you are a man ? What you will be de- 
pends very much on the purposes you now form. 
There is nothing dishonourable in the calling of 
a stage-driver. It is an honest way of obtain- 
ing a livelihood, and may be followed prosper- 
ously and respectably by those who are inclined 
to such a mode of life. But the history I have 
given will illustrate this general truth, that if 
you cherish low aims, and make no effort at 
self-improvement, you will never secure an ho- 
nourable standing among your fellow-men. 



&hn 




NOTHING LOST BY CIVILITY. 37 



NOTHING LOST BY CIVILITY. 

A gentleman who has filled the highest mu- 
nicipal offices in one of our cities, owed his ele- 
vation chiefly to a single act of civility. 

A traveller, on a hot summer's day, wanted 
some water for his horse, and perceiving a well 
near the road-side, turned his horse up toward 
it. Just then a lad appeared, to whom the 
stranger addressed himself, saying — 

" My young friend, will you do me the favour 
to draw a bucket of water for my horse, as I 
find it rather difficult to get off and on?" 

The lad promptly seized the bucket, and soon 
brought a supply of water. Pleased with the 
cheerful temper and courteous manner of the 
youth, the traveller inquired his name ; and so 
deep was the impression made on his mind, that 
the name of the lad and his place of residence 
were remembered until several years after- 
ward, when the traveller had occasion for a 
clerk. He then sent for this young man, and 
gave him a responsible and profitable place, 
from which he rose to the chief magistracy of 
a city ! 



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40 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

Emperor. Here is a small one, on red paper, 
with three characters on the head, which signi- 
fies " Searching-for-a-man bill." The bill goes 
on to say that a little boy, six years old, has 
been missing from his home ; it describes his 
appearance and dress, and finishes by saying 
that any one who will bring him to his discon- 
solate parent will be a superior man, perform 
a benevolent action, and receive the sincere 
thanks of his father. Here is a doctor's adver- 
tisement, who tells us that he has found out a 
cure for opium-smoking that was never known 
to fail. Here is a silk-mercer's shop-bill, stat- 
ing that in their establishment are to be found 
silks and satins from every province, and the 
latest fashions from Pekin. And just below 
here is a modest little bill on yellow paper, say- 
ing that the teacher Ping, just arrived from 
Soo-Chow, will attend at the Golden Dragon 
Tea House, on the 16th of this month, and 
following evenings, to rehearse the history of 
the Three States, to all who choose to come 
and listen. But we must not stop to read any 
more, or we shall not get home in time for din- 
ner. Passing in at the outer gate, we come to 
an open shed, with a little altar at the back of 
it, and about a dozen candles burning in front 
of an image of the " Spirit of Riches ;" and 
in front there are several men sitting and 
standing about ; these are chair-bearers, like the 
porters in your city, and this is the god they 
worship. A few steps farther, and we pass 



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o-j_^ 

LETTER FROM CHINA. 41 

through the inner gate, and now we are fairly 
inside a Chinese city ; but how different from the 
cities of your country ! Here we see no shops 
with glass windows, but when the shutters are 
taken down they are all open to the street ; 
the counters run along the front, and the cus- 
tomers stand outside to buy. The sign-boards, 
instead of being put over the door, stand on the 
ground, and reach the whole height of the shop. 
Do you see that old man in front of us, with a 
long yellow^ gown ? That gown was given him 
by the Emperor, when he became seventy years 
old. You see there are four characters in black 
velvet on the breast, signifying " Granted by 
imperial favour." In China they honor old 
age so much that any one that reaches seventy 
can get the same from the Emperor. 

When we get to the end of this street — now — 
we'll turn to the left, and pass along this other 
busy street, which you see is full of all sorts of 
shops ; greengrocers, bakers, tailors, tea-men, 
blacksmiths, coppersmiths, carpenters, cabinet- 
makers, doctors, oil-men, curiosity shops, toy 
shops, and a number of others. But what is 
this large building with the nice level paving in 
front of it ? That is a temple, and the spirit 
that is worshipped there was once a living man, 
who invented the art of dyeing cloth ; and he is 
now supposed to watch over all the dyers, 
and they pray to and worship him, so that this 
is the dyer's church. But what are all these 
large red chests that they are carrying in, in 

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42 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

such numbers ? These contain the dresses of 
a sort of play-actors, who are coming to-morrow 
to perform plays, for they have a stage inside. 
You may think a church is a curious place to 
perform plays in, but that is the custom with 
these heathen people. Come along now, and 
take care that you do not upset that barber's 
stand. Here is a small bridge, we'll cross over 
this ditch and go in at this little door, which 
leads us into a place called the Ching-Hwang 
Meaou, a very funny name, and there are a 
great many funny things done in it. Do you 
see those rocks standing in the middle of the 
water, and the pretty zigzag bridges that lead 
to different parts of them, the winding passages 
and grottos in the rocks, and the rough stone 
steps in different parts that lead you round and 
round, till at last you are able to get to the top of 
the highest pinnacle ? Those trees and flowers, 
too, that are growing out from between the stones, 
look very pretty ; and you see in the middle of 
the lake there a pretty house, two stories high, 
with figures of birds and dragons all about, and 
bridges leading up to it. In summer-time that 
is all open, and people go there to sit and drink 
tea, and enjoy themselves. But look at these 
poor miserable-looking people who are knock- 
ing their heads on the ground to us as we pass ; 
these are beggars, and they think that by doing 
so they will induce us to give them some money. 
Here is a man making a great noise, talking 
about something or other : let us listen to what 



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LETTER FKOM CHINA. 43 

he says ; he is offering to tell fortunes, and 
says he will tell you any little matter for the 
amount of three cash, which is less than half a 
farthing. See, there is a silly-looking man, 
with his mouth wide open, coming to ask what 
doctor it will be lucky to employ for his child 
that is sick. Notice now, he pulls a slip of 
bamboo out of his bundle ; see how cunningly 
the fortune-teller looks at the character on it, 
and then how rapidly he runs over the descrip- 
tion of it, as if he had it all by heart. Now 
he takes his pencil and scribbles it down on the 
board before him, as quick as lightning. He 
has got a history for every stroke, and you 
would think he could see in these few lines all 
that was to happen to his customer during the rest 
of his life. Now he takes his cloth and wipes 
it all out, receives his three cash, and is ready 
for the next simpleton that comes. You see he 
»has got a number of dirty books lying on his 
stall, that he pretends help him to see what is 
to happen to any one ; but what is that little 
book that he is taking up now ? I think I have 
seen it before. Why that is one of our tracts ; 
it is the tenth chapter of John's Gospel. See, 
he reads it now, and praises it : he says it is 
good doctrine, but how little does he understand 
about it ! Let us pray that Grod would help 
him, and all the poor people round about us 
who are worshipping wooden images, to find the 
door of the sheepfold, and to enter in at it. 
You know that in that chapter Jesus Christ tells 



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44 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

us he is the door. Let us praise his name that 
we have been brought to him, and that he 
watches over us, as a shepherd does over his 
sheep. 

I am just going to call at a shop here, where 
a man is doing some work for me, and then, as 
it is getting late, we must hurry home without 
stopping to look at any thing, and if you like, 
we will take a walk another day. 



A CHILD INVITED TO JESUS. 

Come to Jesus, little sinner, 

Come to him this very day ; 
Bow upon your knees before him, 

He will teach you how to pray. 
Come to Jesus, for he loves you; 

He's so great, and kind, and good. 
Come to Jesus — he will wash you 

In his own most precious blood. 



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COME TO JESUS. 45 



COME TO JESUS. 

Hear what Jesus now is speaking : 
" Come to me, each weary soul, 

Is your heart with sorrow breaking ? 
Then on me your burdens roll. 

" Come, the babe, whose eyes are beaming 

On a world of joys untrue ; 
I, my crown and glory leaving, 

Was a little babe like you. 

" Come, the flower of morning beauty, 
Come, the tender bud of spring ; 

I with blessings will refresh you, 
And to bloom your promise bring. 

" Come, the aged man and hoary, 
Rest you on my arm of love ; 

It will bring you safe to glory, 
It will set your feet above. 

" All on earth — the poor and weary — 

All in trouble, all in sin — 
When the things around look dreary, 

When there is a sting within — 

" See, my eye of love is on you, 
Trust my promises and grace ; 

Cast your sinful pleasures from you, 
And my joy shall fill their place." 



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46 boys' and girls' scrap-book, 



A BEAUTIFUL STORY. 

In coming down the North River, I was seat- 
ed in the cabin of the magnificent steamer 
Isaac Newton, in conversation with some friends. 
It was becoming late in the evening, and one 
after another, seeking repose from the cares and 
toils of the day, made preparations to retire to 
their berths. Some, pulling off their boots and 
coats, lay themselves down to rest ; others, in 
the attempt to make it seem as much as possi- 
ble like home, threw off more of their clothing 
— each one as his comfort, or apprehension of 
danger, dictated. 

I had noticed on the deck a fine-looking little 
boy of about six years old, following a man 
around, evidently his father, whose appearance 
indicated him to be a foreigner, probably a 
German — a man of medium height and re- 
spectably dressed. The child was unusually fair 
and fine-looking, handsomely featured, with an 
intelligent and affectionate expression of coun- 
tenance ; and from under his little German cap 
fell his chestnut hair, in thick, clustering, beau- 
tiful curls. 

After walking about the cabin for a time, 
the father and son stopped within a few feet of 
where we were seated, and began preparations 
for going to bed. I watched them. The father 
adjusted and arranged the bed the child was to 
occupy, which was an upper berth, while the 



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A BEAUTIFUL STORY. 47 

little fellow was undressing himself. Having 
finished this, his father tied a handkerchief 
around his head to protect his curls, which 
looked as if the sun-light from his young hap- 
py heart always rested there. This done, I 
looked for him to seek his resting-place ; but 
instead of this, he quietly kneeled down on the 
floor, put up his little hands together, so beau- 
tifully childlike and simple, and, resting his 
arms on the lower berth, against which he 
knelt, he began his evening prayers. 

The father sat down by his side, and waited 
the conclusion. It was, for a child, a long 
prayer, but well understood. I could hear the 
murmuring of his sweet voice, but could not 
distinguish the words he spoke. But what a 
scene ! There were men around him — Chris- 
tian men — retiring to rest without prayer ; or, 
if praying at all, a kind of mental desire for 
protection, without sufficient courage or piety 
to kneel down in a steamboat's cabin, and, be- 
fore strangers, acknowledge the goodness of 
God, or ask his protecting love. 

This was the training of some pious mother. 
Where was she now ? How many times had 
her kind hand been laid on those sunny locks, 
as she had taught him to lisp his prayers ? 

A beautiful sight it was, that child at prayer 
in the midst of the busy, thoughtless throng. 
He, alone, of the worldly multitude, draws nigh 
to heaven. I thank the parental love that 
taught him to lisp his evening prayer, whether 



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48 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

Protestant or Papist, whether dead or living, 
whether far off or nigh. It did me good ; it 
made me better. I could scarce refrain from 
weeping then, nor can I now, as I see again 
that sweet child, in the crowded tumult of a 
steamboat's cabin, bending in devotion before 
his Maker. 

But a little while before, I saw a crowd of 
admiring listeners gathering about a company 
of Italian singers, in the upper saloon — a mo- 
ther and two sons, with voice, and harp, and 
violin ; but no one heeded, no one cared for the 
child at prayer. 

When the little boy had finished his evening 
devotion he arose, and kissed his father most 
affectionately, who put him into his berth to 
rest for the night. I felt a strong desire to 
speak to them, but deferred it till morning. 
When morning came, the confusion of landing 
prevented me from seeing them again. But, if 
ever I meet that boy in his happy youth, in his 
anxious manhood, in his declining years, I'll 
thank him for the influence and example of 
that night's devotion, and bless the name of the 
mother that taught him to pray. 

Scarcely any passing incident of my life ever 
made a deeper impression on my mind. I went 
to my room, and thanked God that I had wit- 
nessed it, and for its influence on my heart. 
Who prays on a steamboat ? Who train their 
children to pray, even at home ? 



3 



THE STRENGTH OF A KIND WORD. 49 



THE STRENGTH OF A KIND WORD. 

Some people are very apt to use harsh, angry 
words, perhaps because they think they will be 
obeyed more promptly. They talk loud, swear 
and storm, though after all they are often only 
laughed at ; their orders are forgotten, and their 
ill-temper only is remembered. 

How strong is a kind word ! It will do what 
the harsh word, or even blow, cannot do ; it 
will subdue the stubborn will, relax the frown, 
and work wonders. 

Even the dog, the cat, or the horse, though 
they do not know what you say, can tell when 
you speak a kind word to them. 

A man was one day driving a cart along the 
street. The horse was drawing a heavy load, 
and did not turn as the man wished him. The 
man was in an ill-temper, and beat the horse ; 
the horse reared and plunged, but he either did 
not or would not go the right way. Another 
man, who was with the cart, went up to the 
horse and patted him on the neck, and called 
him kindly by his name. The horse turned his 
head, and fixed his large eyes on the man, as 
though he would say, " I will do any thing for 
you, because you are kind to me ;" and bend- 
ing his broad chest against the load, turned the 
cart down the narrow lane, and trotted on 
briskly, as though the load were a plaything. 
Oh ! how strong is a kind word ! 

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50 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



I'M NOT TOO YOUNG. 

I'm not too young for God to see, 
He knows my name and nature too ; 

And all day long he looks at me, 

And sees my actions through and through. 

He listens to the words I say, 

He knows the thoughts I have within ; 

And whether I'm at work or play, 
He's sure to see it, if I sin. 

If some good minister is near, 

It makes us careful what we do ; 
And how much more we ought to fear 

The Lord, who sees us through and through, 

Thus, when I want to do amiss, 

However pleasant it may be, 
I'll always try to think of this, 

I'm not too young for God to see. 



THE ALMOND-BLOSSOM. 



"Dear mother," said a little girl, as they 
were walking together in the garden, "why 
do you have so few of those beautiful double 
almonds in the garden ? You have hardly a 
bed where there is not a tuft of violets, and 

u t i it) rnr-f -q 



r = °i 

THE ALMOND-BLOSSOM. 51 

they are so much plainer ! What can be the 
reason ?" 

" My dear child," said the mother, " gather 
me a bunch of each. Then I will tell you why 
I prefer the humble violet." 

The little girl ran off, and soon returned with 
a fine bunch of the beautiful almond and a few 
violets. 

" Smell them, my love," said her mother, 
" and try which is the sweetest." 

The child smelled again and again, and could 
scarcely believe herself that the lovely almond 
had no scent, while the plain violet had a de- 
lightful odour. 

" Well, my child, which is the sweetest ?" 

" Oh, dear mother, it is the little violet !" 

" Well, you know now, my child, why I pre- 
fer the plain violet to the beautiful almond. 
Beauty without fragrance, in flowers, is, in my 
opinion, something like beauty without gentle- 
ness and good temper in little girls. When 
any of those people who speak without reflec- 
tion may say to you, ' What charming blue 
eyes ! What beautiful curls ! What a fine 
complexion !' without knowing whether you have 
any good qualities, and without thinking of 
your defects and failings, with some of which 
everybody is born, remember then, my little girl, 
the almond-blossom ; and remember also, when 
your affectionate mother may not be there to 
tell you, that beauty without gentleness and 
good temper, is worthless. 1 ' 



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52 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



HYMN. 

When morning pours its golden rays, 
O'er hill and vale, o'er earth and sea, 

My heart unbidden swells in praise, 
Father of light and life, to thee j 

When night from heaven steals darkly down, 
And throws its shade o'er lawn and lea, 

My sadden'd spirit seeks thy throne, 
And bows in worship still to thee ! 

If tempests sweep the angry sky, 

Or sunbeams smile on flower and tree, 

If joys and sorrows dim the eye — 
Father in heaven, I turn to thee ! 




GOD IS WITH ME. 



The Princess of Oldenburg, of Russia, was 
walking in the garden last summer, and saw her 
son, a fine boy, about five years old, walking 
alone. She said to him, " How happens it, my 
son, that you are here all alone ?" He replied, 
" I have lost Catharine and George, (his brother 
and sister,) and do not know where they are ; 
but I am not alone, for God is alwavs with 



me." 



cbxa zizzzzzzzr—z 'zzzszzzizzrzzzzzzzzz -. ~zzzz n-Fi- 



BE HONEST TO EVERY ONE. 53 

BE HONEST TO EVERY ONE. 

" Be faithful to your employer, and honest to 
every one," said Widow Freeman to her son 
George, when he left the charity-school to go 
live as an errand-boy with a respectable shoe- 
maker in a neighbouring town. " Remember 
that | the eyes of the Lord are in every place, 
beholding the evil and the good;' and if you 
seek to please him in all your ways, you may 
humbly expect his blessing wherever you go. 
But if you should take to bad courses, you w T ill 
break your poor mother's heart, and bring down 
her gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." 

George felt something rising in his throat 
which prevented his speaking, and the tears 
came into his eyes ; but he thought it would be 
unmanly to cry. So giving his mother a hearty 
kiss, he nodded good-by, and ran down the 
lane as fast as he could, while the good woman 
continued to stand at her cottage-door, watch- 
ing him till he was quite out of sight, and pray- 
ing that the God of the fatherless and the 
widow would protect her darling boy and keep 
him from all the snares of sin. 

After a week or two it was seen that George 
was likely to do well in his new place. He re- 
membered what he was told, and did as he was 
bidden. He gave his mind to fulfil the duties 
required of him, and would make no acquaint- 

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54 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

ance with the idle boys who were playing about 
the streets, and sought to persuade him to loiter 
on his errands* His master praised his good 
memory, and his mistress liked him for his 
civility and readiness to oblige. Every night 
he went home to his mother's cottage. It was 
two miles to walk, but George did not mind 
that ; he was young and healthy and strong ; 
and if he was sometimes tired with running 
about all day, he always forgot his weariness 
when he saw his mother standing to look out 
for him at the cottage-door. On Saturday 
nights he did not come home until ten o'clock ; 
but then he brought his wages in his pocket, 
and half-a-crown a week was a great sum 
to the poor widow, who had to work hard 
for her living. Now that she had no longer 
her boy's entire maintenance to provide for, 
she was able to procure many comforts which 
she greatly needed ; • and happily and thank- 
fully were their Sabbaths spent in praising 
God for earthly blessings, and seeking the 
richer gifts of his Holy Spirit to fit them for 
their rest above. 

George had been in his place nearly twelve 
months, and his obedience to his mother's part- 
ing advice had secured for him an excellent 
character as an honest and faithful servant. 
One evening he was sent by his mistress to pur- 
chase various articles at a grocer's shop in the 
next street, for which he was to pay, and receive 
a sixpence in change. He was, served by the 




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BE HONEST TO EVERY ONE, 55 

grocer himself, but had scarcely left the shop 
when he perceived, by the bright light in the 
window, that a half-sovereign had been given 
to him in mistake for the sixpence. Here was 
an opportunity for a dishonest boy to have com- 
mitted a theft, without much probability of being 
found out. But I do not suppose that the 
thought of such a wicked action once entered 
George's mind. He directly turned back into 
the shop, and simply saying, " You have made 
a mistake, sir," he laid the half-sovereign upon 
the counter, and stood waiting for his proper 
change. 

The grocer looked with a smile in George's 
honest face, and, after a moment's thought, 
taking two sixpences from the drawer, inquired 
if he was not in the employ of Mr. Barnes, the 
shoemaker round the corner? On hearing 
George's reply, the grocer said that he should 
inform his master of his good conduct ; and 
giving him the sixpence that was due, with an- 
other for himself as a token of approbation, he 
told him to practise the same integrity through 
life, and he need not doubt that he would find 
friends. George felt grateful, both for the gift 
and the advice ; and perhaps he betrayed a little 
self-gratification when relating the matter to his 
mother, for she thought it needful to warn him 
against trusting in his own strength, reminding 
him that he had a sinful heart, which nothing 
but divine grace could restrain from the way 
of evil. And she entreated him to read his 



1 



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56 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

Bible, with constant prayer for his Saviour's 
mercy and assistance, since they are safe whom 
he keeps, but there is help in none besides. 

The next morning, when he arrived at the 
shop, early as it was, George found Mr. Brown, 
the grocer, standing and talking to his master at 
the door. He made his bow, and was passing 
on ; but Mr. Brown put his hand upon his 
shoulder, and his master, bidding him stop, 
asked him if his mother would object to his 
taking another place. 

George turned first red and then white, when 
he heared this question. He feared that his 
master was displeased with him, and all the con- 
sequences of being dismissed rushed upon his 
mind. But before he could reply, Mr. Brown 
told him that he had come to the determination 
of taking him as an apprentice, if his mother 
would consent, and his present master was will- 
ing to give him up. 

The truth was, that the grocer, having been 
lately defrauded to a large amount by one of 
the persons in his employment, was willing to 
set aside all other considerations for the sake 
of obtaining a really honest boy ; and was look- 
ing out for a lad of this description at the very 
time when George's conduct with regard to the 
half-sovereign called forth his notice and com- 
mendation. 

Mr. Barnes, the shoemaker, though sorry to 
lose his steady errand-boy, was too much his 
friend to stand in the way of his promotion; 



1 



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BE HONEST TO EVERY ONE. 57 

and as there could be no doubt that Widow 
Freeman would thankfully give her consent, it 
was soon settled that George should go to his 
new master as soon as a successor could be met 
with for his present place. 

How the happy boy got home that night he 
could scarcely tell. He hardly allowed himself 
time to take breath ; and when he saw his mo- 
ther waiting at the cottage-door, it seemed to 
give wings to his feet. What joy and gratitude 
were felt under that humble roof, when his 
tidings were told, no words of mine can ex- 
press ; and it was with a full heart that they both 
kneeled down before retiring to rest, to give 
thanks to God for his goodness in thus provid- 
ing for their wants, and raising up friends for 
the time to come. 

George has now been three years in the 
family of Mr. Brown, and the worthy grocer 
has been heard to say that he could trust him 
with untold gold. Reader, let this example 
encourage you to be strictly honest in all your 
dealings. You may not, like George, meet 
with an immediate reward ; but such conduct 
will be sure, in the end, to procure for you the 
good opinion and confidence of others, and it 
will bring to your own mind a peace and satis- 
faction worth more than treasures of silver and 
gold. 



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58 boys' and girls' scrap-book, 




THE ONE CHERISHED SIN. 

Often, from my window on the sea-shore, I 
have observed a little boat at anchor. Day 
after day, and month after month, it is seen at 
the same spot. The tides ebb and flow, yet it 
scarcely moves. While many a gallant vessel 
spreads its sails, and, catching the favouring 
breeze, has reached the haven, this little bark 
moves not from its accustomed spot. True it is, 
that when the tide rises, it rises ; and when it 
ebbs again, it sinks ; but advances not. Why 
is this ? Approach nearer and you will see. 
It is fastened to the earth by one slender rope. 
There is the secret. A cord, scarcely visible, 
enchains it, and will not let it go. Now, sta- 
tionary Christians, see here your state, the 
state of thousands! Sabbaths come and go, 
but leave them as before. Ordinances come and 
go ; ministers come and go ; means, privileges, ser- 
mons, move them not : yes, they move them — a 
slight elevation by a Sabbath tide, and again they 
sink ; but no onward, heavenward movement. 
They are as remote as ever from the haven of rest ; 
this one sin enslaves, enchains the soul, and will 
not let it go. Some secret, unseen, allowed 
indulgence, drags down the soul, and keeps 
it fast to earth. If it be so, snap it asunder; 
make one desperate effort in the strength of 
God. Take the Bible as your chart, and Christ 



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PHCEBE AND THE PLUMS. 59 

as your pilot, to steer you safely amid the 
dangerous rocks, and pray for the Spirit of all 
grace to fill out every sail, and waft you on- 
ward over the ocean of life, to the haven of 
everlasting rest. 



PHGEBE AND THE PLUMS. 



Little Phoebe was playing, one fine sunny day, 
With brothers and sisters, all happy and gay ; 
They were running, and jumping, as brisk as 

could be, 
When they came full in sight of a beautiful tree. 

They shouted, and ran through the grass to its 

root, 
There peep'd through its leaflets a store of ripe 

fruit ; 
Said Eunice : " See, here is a feast for us all, 
Climb, brother, for plums, in our laps let them 

fall." 

Now Phoebe was youngest, and never had 

known 
How wrong 'tis to take things that are not our 

own ; 
But sweet were the plums, and she liked them 

so well, 
That she gather'd and ate them as fast as they 

fell. 

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60 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

She fill'd her small apron, and hasten'd to run 
To tell her kind mother of what she had done ; 
For she knew that she loved her, and always 

was glad 
To hear of the pleasures her little one had. 

Her mother was sorry, and told her 'twas sin 
To take what's not our's, were it small as a pin ; 
That children who steal cannot taste of God's love, 
Nor go, when they die, to his mansions above. 

Poor Phoebe cried sadly and long for her theft, 
Than ran to take back all the plums that w T ere 

left: 
The owner forgave her, and said, " Do not 

weep, 
But since you have told me, the plums you may 

keep." 

Too sorry to take them, she hasten'd away, 
And kneel' d in her own little closet to pray ; 
She said, " Lord, I grieve, that so naughty I've 

been; 
Oh bless and forgive me, and wash my heart 

clean ! " 

Poor Phoebe, long after, remember'd that day, 
And never beside that green plum-tree would 

play ; 
The plums mamma offer' d she never would take, 
For the thought of her sin made her tender 

heart ache. 

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A LITTLE THING. 61 



A LITTLE THING. 



" Oh, mother, I'm so glad you've come home 
— I've been a good boy all the while you've 
been away, and now please to tell me a story," 
said Henry. 

"I will, my son," said the mother; "for I 
have seen something which grieved me exceed- 
ingly, and led me to think how sadly I should 
feel if that lad were my child ?" 

" What was it, mother — was the boy sick ?" 

" No, he was not sick ; he had a full bright 
eye, an animated countenance, and was very 
active and sprightly in his appearance. At 
first sight I was pleased with him, and thought 
6 The mother of that son must be happy in being 
blessed with one so interesting as he seemed 
to be.' Very soon, however, my feelings were 
changed. As he passed a fruit-stand, I saw 
him slyly put forth his hand, and take a nut or 
two. The keeper of the fruit did not see 
him, and he went on as gayly as before. He 
probably thought it was but a i little thing,' 
and therefore of no consequence. He never 
supposed it was just as much stealing, and he 
was just as much a thief, as though he had 
taken a bag of gold. But, my dear child, 
never forget, it is the intention, and not the 
amount, which constitutes a breach of the com- 
mand, ' Thou shalt not steal.' That boy, in 
the sight of a holy God, is a thief, because he 

6 

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62 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

took the nut with the design of concealing the 
fact from the owner; and if he continues the 
practice of thus pilfering ' little things' in his 
youth, he will probably end his days, either the 
wretched inmate of a state-prison, or the de- 
graded criminal upon the gallows. One, whose 
career had been a series of theft, robbery, and 
crime, was recently thus executed in Paris. In 
his confession, previous to the awful scene which 
closed his life, he said, " All the crimes which 
have so deeply stained my past life, were in 
consequence of my stealing an apple in my 
childhood, in which I was not detected.' This 
little thing emboldened him to do another, and 
another, and still more, until 'little things' 
gave place to greater, and the hand of justice 
finding him, closed his career. Beware, then, 
dear youth, of these 'little things' which are 
wrong. They are the entrance to a pathway 
Avhich will surely terminate not only in wretch- 
edness and sorrow here, but wo and misery in- 
describable hereafter." 




L 
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"MOTHER, SING JERUSALEM." 63 



" MOTHER, SING JERUSALEM." 

The last words of a beautiful boy, who died in Boston a few years since. 

A child laid in a darken'd room, 

With pallid, waxen face ; 
A little child, whose tide of life 

Had nearly run its race. 

Most holy robes the angels brought, 

By holy spirits given, 
Ready to wrap its soul in them, 

And carry it to heaven. 

Perchance their beauty made him think 

Of some harmonious word, 
That often from his mother's lips 

The dying one had heard. 

It might be, for he whisp'red low, 
"Sing! mother, sing!" and smiled. 

The worn one knelt beside the couch : 
"What shall I sing, my child?" 

" Jerusalem ! my happy home !" 

The gasping boy replied, 
And sadly sweet the clear notes rang 

Upon the eventide : 




j 

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64 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

" Jerusalem, my happy home, 

Name ever dear to me ! 
When shall my labours have an end 

In joy, and peace, and thee ?" 

And on she sang, while breaking hearts 

Beat slow, unequal time ; 
They felt the passing of the soul 

With that triumphal chime. 

" Oh ! when, thou city of my God, 

Shall I thy courts ascend ?" 
They saw the shadows of the grave 

With his sweet beauty blend. 

"Why should I shrink at pain or wo, 

Or feel at death dismay ?" 
She ceased— the angels bore the child 

To realms of endless day. 



k 



A LITTLE BOY'S FAITH. 

A little boy who had been lost in one of 
the dense forests of the West, and was out all 
night, gave the following account of his con- 
duct at the approach of darkness : — " It grew 
dark, and I kneeled down and asked God to 
take care of little Johnny, and then went to 
sleep." 



n ■ - q 




— Q-p 

THE MISSIONARY BRIDGE. 65 

THE MISSIONARY BRIDGE. 

The Missionary Bridge ! What can that be ? 
Can any bridge be built which can help the 
missionaries to get over the wide seas and rivers 
which separate them from so many countries ? 
Yes, dear children ; and perhaps you will be 
surprised when I tell you that the bridge is 
a little one, built by little boys, with no other 
tools than little wooden spades. The same sort 
of bridge would serve to carry the Sunday-school 
missionary and his stock of beautiful Sunday- 
school books into the wilds of the West, scatter- 
ing blessings for the little ones on every side. 
The history of one Missionary bridge is this : — 

Three little boys were last July at a sea-bath- 
ing place in Yorkshire, (Eng.,) where the children 
find great amusement in digging on the sands. 
They sallied forth one fine morning with their 
spades, and finding a stream left by the ebbing 
tide, rather too wide and too deep to be agree- 
ably crossed on foot, they built a bridge of stones 
and sand, over which many persons, taking 
their morning walk, were glad to pass, and smil- 
ingly asked the little builders if they did not 
take toll; to which they civilly replied, "No." 
But the next day the idea was suggested that 
the bridge might be called a Missionary Bridge, 
and a toll of one half-penny requested of any 
who were willing to aid the Missionary cause. 



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66 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

The little boys were delighted to find their plea- 
sant employment might assist in carrying the 
precious gospel to heathen lands. A nice bright 
blue bag was quickly made, and fastened to the 
top of a stick about a yard high, and, thus 
equipped, the little labourers again set out to 
rebuild what the tide had washed away. 

The bridge built, and the stick and bag reared 
up in the sand at one end of it, some of the 
company kindly encouraged the little boys, and 
slipped their half-pence into the bag. One lady, 
though quite a stranger, gave them such kind 
looks and words, that she won the hearts of the 
little boys at once : they were sure she loved 
Jesus and the missionaries. The whole of their 
work, however, was not quite so smooth and plea- 
sant. Some were quite indifferent ; and one 
spoke so disrespectfully of the cause in which they 
were engaged, that the hearts of the little boys 
were wounded ; but the kind lady had told them 
never to be ashamed of the Missionary work, 
for it is the work of Christ ; and that, whether 
young or old, all must expect to meet with 
some difficulties, if they would serve him who 
took up his cross to serve and save us. 

The varying tides, and other circumstances, 
only allowed of the Missionary Bridge being 
built three times during their stay: on which 
occasions they received the sum of 5s. Id. from 
those who passed over it. ■» Small as this may 
appear, their Missionary Bridge, may with God's 
blessing, be the means of conveying some of 



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~ ■- =^ 

ALL IS VANITY. — LOUIS PHILIPPE. 67 

the richest treasures to perishing souls. If it 
help over one precious Bible, who can tell what 
glorious things may be accomplished ? 

Time cannot tell : Eteknity will reveal it. 
And may it be to the Lord for a name, for an 
everlasting sign that shall not be cut off. We 
know that he will not despise the feeble efforts 
of little children, but will say of them, as he did 
of Mary, when she poured the ointment on his 
blessed head, " They have done what they could." 



ALL IS VANITY.— LOUIS PHILIPPE. 

Louis Philippe is dead. He was one of 
the richest of all the kings who have lived in 
our time. But he was a poor wanderer over 
the world for many years in the early part of 
his life and" was at one time without a place in 
which to lay his head. 

His parents were among the nobles of France ; 
but in the revolutions that occurred, his father 
was beheaded, and Louis was compelled to fly 
from his country to save his own life. He wan- 
dered over the cold and dreary parts of Nor- 
thern Europe. He became a school-teacher in 
Switzerland, thereby earning his daily bread, 
as every honest man ought to do. Then he 
came to this country and visited all the princi- 
pal cities. He travelled westward on horseback, 
and from Pittsburgh he floated down the Ohio 

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j 68 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

to the Mississippi, and to New Orleans, in a 
small boat ; at night making it fast to a tree while 
he slept soundly. This was in 1797. He then 
resided in England until the overthrow of Na- 
poleon, when he returned to France. In 1830 
he ascended the throne of his native coun- 
try, and for nearly twenty years he reigned 
in great splendour. He gathered an immense 
sum of money together while he was king, and 
spent large sums in adorning his palaces and 
the cities of France. 

But another revolution came, and the people 
who had called him to be their king, drove him 
out of his palace. They took his throne and 
made a bonfire of it in the street! The king, 
now an infirm old man, with his wife, hurried 
away on foot, and in disguise. They got an 
omnibus and were carried to an obscure tavern 
in the country, where they spent the night. As 
soon as possible they were taken by some friends 
to the sea-shore, and then to England, where 
Louis Philippe died. 

Solomon was the richest man and greatest 
of the times in which he lived, but he said it 
was all vanity. So Louis Philippe thought, 
when he looked back over his strange life, and 
saw how much he had gone through, and to 
what it all comes at last. He was as happy 
when a school-teacher in Switzerland, or a wan- 
derer in the wilds of America, as when he was 
on the throne of France. 

There are two or three lessons to be learned 

E, j 



t£ 



INSTRUCTION BY A BOY. 69 

from his life. One is, that there is no depend- 
ence to be placed on any thing we have in this 
world. It will perish. Riches will fly away. 
A king to-day may be a beggar to-morrow. 
Another lesson is, that we should not be unhappy 
because we are not rich or great. We may be 
just as happy in our poverty as the king on his 
throne. 

It is goodness, not greatness, that makes men 
happy. 



A BOY INSTRUCTING A MAN OF SEVENTY. 

An old man of seventy years recently at- 
tended a prayer-meeting in London, where he 
related the following fact respecting himself 
and a little boy : — 

" A portion of Scripture, c The curse of the 
Lord is in the house of the wicked,' &c, was a 
few days ago impressed upon his mind and 
heart so forcibly, that he could not help think- 
ing about it ; nor did he know where to find it. 
He at last mentioned the circumstance to the 
family where he is lodging. 

" When a little boy, ten years of age, heard 
it, he said, ' Oh, sir, I will find it for you !' and 
immediately took his Bible, and turned to the 
portion as recorded in Proverbs iii. 33. Thus 
the boy became a preacher to an old man ; to 
one who had spent many years in sin and ini- 
quity, but who, by God's free, unmerited mercy, 

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70 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

is now a subject of grace. The little fellow has 
been brought up in an infant-school, and is now 
in the Sabbath-school. The poor old man was 
deeply affected when relating it ; so much so 
that he could scarcely give utterance to what 
he wished to express.' 



PRAYER. 

Wake, little child, the morn is gay, 

The air is fresh and cool ; 
But pause awhile, and kneel to pray, 
Before you go to merry play, 

Before you go to school. 

Kneel down and speak the holy words ; 

God loves your simple prayer 
Above the sweet songs of the birds, 
The bleating of the gentle herds, 

The flowers that scent the air. 

And when the quiet evenings come, 

And dew-drops wet the sod, 
When bats and owls begin to roam, 
And flocks and herds are driven home, 
Then kneel again to God. 

Because you need him day and night, 

To shield you with his arm ; 
To help you always to do right, 
To feed your soul and give it light, 
And keep you safe from harm. 



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WHAT IS BENEVOLENCE? 71 



WHAT IS BENEVOLENCE ? 

" "What did you mean, father, by saying to- 
day, that Ned Williams was a very benevolent 
man?" 

"I meant what I said," replied his father, 
smiling. " What was there in the remark so very 
difficult to understand?" 

" Why, I thought Ned Williams was one of 
the jworest men in the village !" 

" So he is ; but can he not be benevolent, if 
he is poor ? What does benevolence mean ?" 

Robert hesitated a moment before answering, 
and his little sister Fanny exclaimed, " Why, I 
know what it means. It means to give away 
clothes and potatoes and cold meat to poor 
people." 

Robert, not quite satisfied with any definition 
he could think of, had resorted to the dictionary, 
and read aloud, "Benevolence — disposition to 
do good, charity. Benevolent — kind, good, af- 
fectionate." 

" Yes, that is the meaning," said his father. 
"And surely a poor man can have the disposi- 
tion to do good, can be kind and affectionate, as 
well as a rich one. It is a common error to 
suppose benevolence consists entirely in giving 
away money, or articles of food and clothing. 
Many a poor person, without giving these, has 
been more benevolent than even our most liberal 
rich men." 



LJ I 'If! " 



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72 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

"But," persisted Robert, "I do not see how 
that can be." 

" Nor I," said Fanny, who since she had been 
able to define what benevolence meant, sooner 
than Robert, (to her own complete satisfaction 
at least,) considered herself quite an important 
party in the discussion. 

" There are numberless modes of manifesting 
a desire to do good," said their father ; "the 
merit, the real benevolence consists in the sacri- 
fice we make, rather than the amount con- 
tributed. It may cost a rich man less to give 
a large sum of money, than it does a poor man 
to sacrifice his time or ease. I think I can 
make this plainer to you, by relating some 
instances of benevolence which occurred in our 
own village, a few winters ago. There was, at 
that time, a family living in a very remote part 
of the town, by the name of Richards. The 
head of it was a labouring man, temperate and 
honest, but quite poor, with a family of six chil- 
dren. One cold night in January, his little 
dwelling took fire and burnt to the ground. 
You can imagine the distress of the family. 
This little house, and a cow, were all he owned 
in the wide world. To make the matter worse, 
Mrs. Richards at the time of the fire, was con- 
fined to her bed with a lung fever. What was 
to be done ? Here was a fine opportunity of 
showing benevolence. And I will tell you of 
the different manner in which these individuals 
assisted them, and you can judge for yourselves 

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WHAT IS BENEVOLENCE ? 73 

whether the poor can be benevolent. The next 
house to Mr. Richards's was inhabited by a 
widow named Wilson, and thither Mrs. Richards 
was carried by two men. As was to be ex- 
pected, the invalid was much worse in the 
morning. The excitement of mind, fatigue of 
body, and exposure to the cold, had increased 
her fever to an alarming degree. Good Mrs. 
Wilson never thought of hesitating about what 
was duty in such a case. Every comfort her 
little cottage afforded was freely bestowed, and 
her whole time and strength given to her sick 
inmate with the utmost cheerfulness, day after 
day and week after week. I dare say the 
thought never occurred to her that she was 
being very benevolent ; she acted out a beauti- 
ful impulse of her heart, in relieving the dis- 
tressed, for she had drunk deeply of the spirit 
of Him who said, 'Do unto others as you 
would that others should do unto you.' Let us 
see what she sacrificed. She earned her sub- 
sistence by washing in the families in the village, 
and was accustomed to labour thus five days in 
the week, receiving for this labour fifty cents 
per day. Therefore, in devoting four weeks 
to her sick neighbour, she lost — how much, 
Robert?'' 

" Five times fifty cents is two dollars and a 
half, for one week ; and four times two is eight, 
and four halves two more. Ten dollars, sir !" 

" Yes ; and none but the very poor can fully 
estimate the comforts, or rather necessaries of 

7 



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74 



boys' and girls' scrap-book, 



life which, this sum could procure. It would have 
bought warm winter clothing for herself and 
children, or a supply of fuel, or wholesome pro- 
visions. Besides this, you must remember she 
gave up rest at night, her own bed, and many 
other comforts." 

".I don't believe," said Fanny, "anybody 
else was half so benevolent as Mrs. Wilson was 
then, father?" 

" You shall hear," said her father. " About 
a month after the fire, the neighbours began to 
think of building a house for Mr. Richards. A 
subscription-paper was circulated; some gave 
money, some gave labour, and some gave build- 
ing-materials. Mr. Parker gave by far the 
largest sum of money. He was a young man 
from Boston, very wealthy and gay. He had 
come here to settle an estate of a relative recently 
deceased, from whom he had received thirty thou- 
sand dollars, in addition to his former posses- 
sions. He was a kind-hearted, thoughtless 
young man ; and when the subscription-list was 
handed to him, and the circumstances related, 
he opened the desk containing his new trea- 
sures, and drawing out a hundred-dollar bill, 
gave it to the applicant. Every one on hear- 
ing it exclaimed, ' How generous ! How bene- 
volent !' and yet, from what I know of him, I 
doubt whether he would have sacrificed one 
night's sleep or one party of pleasure to secure 
the Richards's family a new house." 

"But, father, was it wrong for Mr. Parker to 



ojfi 



r — — i 

WHAT IS BENEVOLENCE ? 75 

give him a hundred dollars ?" said little Fanny, 
with a cloud on her sunny brow. 

" No, my love. It was right in him ; just 
what he ought to have done. All I wish you 
to notice is, the cost of his gift ; for on that, as 
I said before, and not on the amount given, de- 
pends the merit of the act. The third person 
I shall mention who assisted the Richardses, 
was Ned Williams. You know he is very poor, 
and could give no money. That winter he was 
earning something for the support of his family, 
by chopping wood in the forest. He was up 
every morning as soon as the first faint streak 
of light was seen in the eastern sky, and was 
off by sunrise, whistling merrily as he drove 
along, breathing the pure morning air. The 
forest rang with the heavy strokes of his axe, 
and ever and anon might be heard a loud crash, 
as some sturdy oak or lofty pine came tumbling 
to the ground. No happier man than honest 
Ned in those days of toil and poverty ! One 
night, as he sat by his fire, he told his wife he 
believed he must do something for Richards's 
new house. " 

"I want to do something neighbourly," said 
he ; " and I have been contriving how to manage 
it. There's John Jones, has given timber enough 
for the frame from his wood-lot, and I'm think- 
ing I had better go and chop it for him." 

"But if you do," replied his wife, "the visit 
to brother David must be given up. You will 
have no other time to go." 



k 



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76 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

" I know it ! I know it ! Fve counted the 
cost," said he, " beforehand. I had, to be sure, 
set my heart on making that visit after my chop- 
ping was done ; but you know we can't give 
money like Mr. Parker, and 'twould be a hard 
case if Ave couldn't do a good turn for a neigh- 
bour, now and then, if we are poor." 

Ned Williams's wife was not the woman to 
throw cold water on any generous impulse. 
She looked at her husband with mingled pride 
and affection, as she answered, " Yes, it w T ould 
be very hard indeed, if we were compelled to be 
selfish because we are poor." So the visit was 
given up ; and Williams's axe never did greater 
execution than when used in behalf of neigh- 
bour Richards's new house. Here are three 
benevolent people, and yet two of them are 
very poor." 

"Well," said little Robert, "I understand 
now how people can be benevolent ; but I think 
Mr. Parker was benevolent also, for his hun- 
dred dollars must have helped a great deal." 

"Certainly he was," said his father; "but 
I wish you to feel that every person can do 
good. However poor, ignorant, or obscure one 
may be, he can give good deeds, kind words, 
and sympathizing looks to the suffering ones 
around him. This capacity of doing good is 
the richest gift God has bestowed upon man ; it 
is a portion of his own divine nature. Can you 
tell me, Robert, in what passage of Scripture 
the truth we have been considering is taught?" 

TtT-n zzz__ : 7 ZZZZZZZZZ _z CL-fa 



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TRUST GOD AND DO GOOD. 77 

" Is it not where Jesus said that the widow 
who cast in her two mites had given more than 
they all?" 

"Yes, Robert, and you may take the Bible 
and read that chapter for our evening devo- 
tions." 



TRUST GOD AND DO GOOD. 

In the early life of P , while he was 

studying at R , it happened that, owing 

to the disturbances of the country, his parents, 
who lived at a distance, fell at one time into 
such painful difficulties, that they were not 
able to send their son his usual means of sup- 
port ; and at the same time death deprived him 
of his chief friend in the place where he was. 
He was now without money or the means of 
obtaining any. He did not know even how to 
provide himself with the common necessaries 
of life. One day, early in the morning, with 
a very sad heart, he was passing a church, 
w^hich stood always open. He found it empty ; 
and throwing himself on his knees, he prayed 
that God would show him some way out of his 
distress, so that his pressing need might be sup- 
plied. 

As he rose and went toward the door which 
led into the principal street, a poor, old, infirm 
woman, leaning on crutches, came into the 



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78 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

church, and asked him for alms. P — had 

only one shilling left, with which he had thought 
to provide himself with food for that day ; but 
he gave it to the poor woman, with these silent 
words, " Lord, I have besought thee for 
help, and thou causest even the last shilling I 
have to be asked of me ; yet thou knowest a 
way to help — I know not any." With tearful 
eyes he passed on ; and just as he went out from 
the church-door, a noble-looking man rode by, 
who at the same moment dropped his glove. 

P took it up, and modestly gave it to 

its owner. The gentleman, surprised at this 
attention from a school-boy, asked his name. 
He told it, and the stranger inquired if he was 
a son or a relative of a famous surgeon of that 
name. He answered that he was his son, 
and the gentleman immediately asked him to 
dine at his lodgings, saying, " Your father 
safely performed a dangerous operation for me, 
and, next to God, I owe my life to him." 

My friend bowed, and the stranger rode on. 
At the appointed time he went as he had been 
invited to do, and was most kindly and hospita- 
bly received. When he took leave, the stran- 
ger took his hand, and put in it six pieces of 
gold, saying, " Students often have little ex- 
penses for which they do not like to apply to 
their kind parents. Take this trifle from me, 
as a token of gratitude toward your father." 



frhjn ■ — — — — — — ~ n^Po 



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MARGARET. 79 



MARGARET. 

Margaret was the eldest daughter of a 
country pastor. At an early age she dedi- 
cated herself to the service of her Saviour. Be- 
fore she was twenty years of age her pious 
mother died, and left two brothers, one of them 
nine, and the other seven years of age, to her 
care. It was a night of weeping in the pas- 
tor's family. As the. children clustered toge- 
ther, and clung to each other, one of the boys 
exclaimed, " Oh brother, we have no mother 
now." " I will be a mother to you both," said 
Margaret. " You cannot, Margaret ; you can- 
not," replied the weeping boy. But she was 
enabled to act a mother's part to them. She 
not only supplied their bodily wants with ten- 
der care, but she also watched over their moral 
and religious character with maternal anxiety ; 
she gently reproved their waywardness, and 
often pointed out to them the w T ay of life by 
Jesus Christ, and, with tears in her eyes, be- 
sought them to be reconciled unto God. 

As a teacher in the Sunday-school, Mar- 
garet manifested a deep sense of her responsi- 
bility. She was in the constant habit of retiring 
to her closet before going out to meet her class. 
She often visited her scholars at their homes, 
and sought opportunities of interesting their 
minds and leading them to God. It was her 




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80 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

delight to visit the poor and afflicted families in 
her neighbourhood, and to minister to their tem- 
poral and spiritual wants. Many children of 
affliction have blessed her with their dying 
breath, and by many who survive, her name is 
held in remembrance. 

Over the declining years of her. father's 
life she watched with unremitting care and 
unwearied tenderness. After his death she 
married, and removed to a Western city, and 
carried a hallowing influence into her new home 
and church. She has fallen asleep in Jesus, 
her body rests on the banks of the Detroit River, 
and her spirit, we believe, is in paradise. 

Such were some of the efforts of Margaret 
to advance the Redeemer's kingdom. Did the 
fruits appear ? One of the brothers is a minis- 
ter of the glorious gospel. The other is endea- 
vouring to glorify God in another profession. 
When she left her class in the Sunday-school, 
two of its members were rejoicing in the hope 
of eternal life, and the others were anxiously 
inquiring after the way of life. A few months 
after her death her husband made a public pro- 
fession of his faith in Christ. Other fruits 
there were, doubtless, and these will appear in 
the great day. 

Lessons : — Even feeble women, of prayerful 
spirits and with devoted hearts, can do much 
for Christ. " He that water eth others, shall 
himself be watered." "Pure religion and un- 
defined before Grocl and the Father is this : to 




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A WORD TO LITTLE GIRLS. 81 



visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, 
and to keep himself unspotted from the world." 
The end of our salvation is to glorify God by 
holy fruit. 



A WORD TO LITTLE GIRLS. 

How to be Loved. — Who is lovely ? It is 
the little girl who drops sweet words, kind 
thoughts, and pleasant smiles as she passes along 
— who has a kind word of sympathy for every 
girl or boy she meets in trouble, and a kind 
hand to help her companions out of difficulty — 
who never scowls, never contends, never teases 
her mates, nor seeks in any other way to dimi- 
nish, but always to increase their happiness. 
Would it not please you to pick up a string of 
pearls, drops of gold, diamonds, and precious 
stones, as you pass along the street ? But 
those acts that I have named are the true pearls 
and precious stones, which can never be lost. 
Take the hand of the friendless. Smile on 
the sad and dejected. Sympathize with those- in 
trouble. Strive everywhere to diffuse around 
you sunshine and joy. 

If you do this, you will be sure to be loved. 
Dr. Doddridge one day asked his little girl 
why it was that everybody loved her. "I don't 
know," she replied, " unless it is that I love 
everybody." This is the true secret of being 
loved. " He that hath friends," says Solomon, 



j3 



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82 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

"must show himself friendly." Love begets 
love. If you love others, they cannot help lov- 
ing you. So, then, do not put on a scowl, and 
fretfully complain that nobody loves you, or 
that such or such an one does not like you. 
If nobody loves you, it is your own fault. Either 
you do not make yourself lovely by • a sweet, 
winning temper, and kind winning ways, or 
you do not love those of whom you complain. 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 

Sister, hear ye not the rustling 
Of the sere leaves as they fall ? 

Teach they not — this drooping, dying — 
A lesson worth the heed of all ? 

Nature preaching, ever teaching, 
A lesson worth the heed of all. 

Once these leaves were fresh and verdant, 
Warm'd by sunshine into birth ; 

Now, chill'd by nipping blasts of autumn, 
They drop unto their mother earth. 

For wise reason, but a season ! 

They drop unto their mother earth. 

Some linger still, but, yellow, faded, 
No more with green the boughs adorn ; 

No shelter yield where erst they shaded ; 
Reft of their kindred, lone, forlorn. 



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AUTUMN LEAVES. 83 

Lifeless seeming, listless gleaming, 
Reft of their kindred, lone, forlorn. 

So, though thou'rt now array'd in satin, 
And pearls are glittering in thy hair ; 

Anon thou'rt need a warmer garment — 
Gray hairs instead of pearls thou'lt wear : 

Weeds arraying, grief betraying ; 

Gray hairs instead of pearls thou'lt wear. 

Then, sister, let us muse and ponder 
On these leaves from nature's page ; 

And prepare while yet in season, 
For a pure and happy age : 

Undespairing, be preparing 
For a pure and happy age. 

I would not damp thy smile of gladness, 
Or cast a shadow o'er thy youth ; 

But ever shun the paths of folly, 
Cleave to virtue and to truth : 

Self-denying, faith-relying, 
Cleave to virtue and to truth. 

For neither youth, nor health, nor beauty, 
Can from Time's stern clutches save ; 

But all must drop, like leaves of autumn, 
To the cold and silent grave : 

Ay, we're dropping, never stopping, 
To the cold and silent grave. 




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84 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



THE WAY-SIDE FLOWER. 

There's a moral, my child, 

In the way-side flower, 
There's an emblem of life. 

In its short-lived hour : 
It smiles in the sunshine, 

And weeps in the shower ; 
And the footstep falls 

On the way-side flower ! 

Now see, my dear child, 

In the way-side flower, 
The joys and the sorrows 

Of life's passing hour ; 
The footstep of time 

Hastens on in its power ; 
And soon we must fall 

Like the way-side flower ! 

Yet know, my dear child, 

That the way-side flower 
Shall revive in its season, 

And bloom its brief hour ; 
That again we shall blossom 

In beauty and power, 
Where the foot never falls 

On the way-side flower ! 



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BREAD ON THE WATERS. 85 



BEEAD ON THE WATERS. 

A Swiss boy of remarkable promise was re- 
fused by his father the necessary aid for prose- 
cuting studies for which he had a strong predi- 
lection. The good pastor of the parish, in this 
emergency, came forward and furnished the 
necessary means ; the boy was sent to the uni- 
versity, and in the course of time rose to the 
highest eminence among scientific men. His 
name has no superior in his department. 

Many years had passed away, and the Swiss 
boy thus befriended was now, with place and 
pay equal to the distinction to which his studies 
had won, a resident of this Western world. 
He lived solitarily, amid plenty and luxury. 
But reverses had come upon his ancient friend, 
the benefactor of his youth. Religious perse- 
cution had visited his native canton, and the 
Swiss pastor, now an old man, had been driven 
from his flock, without home, or the means to 
procure one. The scholar lost no time in trans- 
mitting to the venerable man an invitation to 
share with him his purse and table ; the invita- 
tion was accepted, and, added to the pleasure 
of having given to the world a man of science, 
the Swiss pastor had the happiness of proving 
in his own experience the truth of that divine 
promise, " Cast thy bread upon the waters, and 
after many days thou shalfc find it." 

8 



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86 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



KEEP TRYING. 

A graceful child my pathway cross'd, 

As late I trod the busy street, 
And lightly o'er her head she toss'd 

A rope, which swiftly pass'd her feet ! 
I in her pleasure took a part, 

And pleas' d, said I, addressing her, 
"Of whom learn'd you this pretty art?' : 

She answer'd, "I kept trying, sir!" 



THE BOYS AND THE MAYOR. 

A few days since, two gentlemen were cross- 
ing Boston Common. In the distance they 
saw a lad with his back toward them, apparently 
cutting the newly painted fence around the 
" great tree." As they drew near, the boy ceased 
from his work and sought to hide it by placing 
his back against the fence. One of the gen- 
tlemen asked him what he had been doing. 
The boy was silent. He was requested to move ; 
he did so, and the defaced paling was exposed. 
He was asked — "Did you cut that fence?" 
" I did, sir," was the calm reply. He was re- 
buked for the deed, and promised to offend no 
more. As the gentlemen turned from the lad, 
one of them placed in his hand a quarter of a 
dollar, saying, " Take this for telling the truth: 



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THE BOYS AND THE MAYOR. 87 

never tell a lie, let the consequences be what 
they may." Tears sprang into the eyes of the 
boy as he received such a rebuke for the wrong, 
and such a reward for the right. But great was 
his surprise when he afterward learned that he 
had been reproved and rewarded by the Mayor 
of Boston. Few men know so well how to re- 
strain the waywardness and encourage the noble 
qualities of youth. 

Another boy was observed by a constable 
gathering grass on the Common, and was told 
by the officer that he must not take the grass. 
u Oh, but I must have it for my rabbits." " But 
you must not take it," said the officer. " I 
must have it," the boy replied. " Well," said 
the constable, " if you must have it, you must 
go and ask the Mayor." " Where is the Mayor ?" 
asked the boy. He was directed to the City 
Hall, and told that he would find him there ; so 
off he trudged to the City Hall, and by dint 
of inquiry found the Mayor, and was introduced 
to him. The Mayor inquired, " Well, my son, 
what do you want of me ? " "I want some grass 
for my rabbits, sir." " How many rabbits have 
you ? " " Two, sir." u . But how do you expect 
to get grass of me ? " " Why," said the boy, " I 
was getting grass on the Common, and they told 
me I must not have it, unless I would ask leave of 
you, sir." " Go," said the Mayor, " and tell the 
officer to let you have as much grass as you want." 



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88 boys' and girls' scrap book. 



HOW TO BE GREAT. 

In an old book that I have just been reading, 
is a list of men who have been called the 
great. Of this list, the name of Gyrus, the 
founder of the Persian monarchy, stands at the 
head. Then comes Alexander the Great, the 
son of Philip of Macedon, who wept because 
there were no more people to make war upon, 
after he had subdued the whole world which 
was then known. He murdered his best 
friend, and died in a drunken frolic. Herod, 
the king of Judea, of whom we read in the 
New Testament, was called the Great, and he was 
great in wickedness, but he had no right to be 
called great on account of any thing he had 
ever done for the good of the country or the 
world. Pompey, the rival of Julius Csesar, was 
called the Great, but was far from being as great 
a man as his rival. Then follow the names of 
Popes Leo and Gregory, Charlemagne, Alfred 
of England, and Peter of Russia, and many 
others who at different periods of the world 
have made a great figure and become famous. 

Most men and a good many boys and some 
girls would like to become great.. The de- 
sire is almost universal in the human heart. 
But the most of those who have been called 
great in different ages of the world, have not 
been so called out of regard to any virtues that 




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HOW TO BE GREAT. 89 

adorn their character, but rather in consequence 
of the power they have had over their fellow- 
men. Is this the highest style of greatness ? 
Is this true greatness ? 

If you are just starting in life and have felt 
the desire of becoming great, I would not have 
you make Alexander, or Pompey, or Napoleon, 
your model men. 

There are other and better men than any of 
these ; who enjoyed more happiness while they 
lived and have left behind more blessings for 
the world. It is not likely that any of my 
young friends will ever become distinguished 
as kings, and I hope none of them will be known 
as warriors. Still I would encourage them all 
to become great. And to be great, I would 
have them first become good. True greatness 
must be built on goodness. You may rely 
upon it that any other foundation is a very poor 
one, no better than sand to build a house on. 
If you have real goodness of heart, and strive 
to bless the world by doing all the good you 
can while you are in it, you are in the road to 
greatness. 

A young man once said, as he was leaving 
college, that he would make his influence to 
be felt on the other side of the globe. He was 
a good young man, and went to work immedi- 
ately to try and do good to others. This young 
man died at the early age of thirty, but before 
this time he had succeeded in forming the first 
Missionary society in this country, and his in- 




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90 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

fluence had been felt all around the world. 
And it is felt. It will be felt till the end of 
time. 

The way to be great is to be good and do 
good. 

" Great, not like Caesar, stain'd with blood, 
But only great as 1 am good." 

I would rather be remembered in aftertimes 
as Samuel J. Mills, or Howard, or Wilberforce, 
or as Mrs. Fry, than to have all the glory of 
Alexander or Bonaparte. 



MAKE YOURSELF. 



When the late Dr. John H. Rice, a great 
and good man, who served his generation and 
died in triumphant faith, was young, he was on 
a certain occasion introduced to the celebrated 
Patrick Henry. Mr. Henry took him kindly by 
the hand, and said, among other things, " Be 
sure, my son, and remember that the best men 
always make themselves." The words were re- 
membered by young Rice, and doubtless aided 
in making him the man he became. What did 
Mr. Henry mean by the expression, "the best 
men always make themselves ?"' He meant that 
those men who become eminent for intellectual 
and moral power, acquire that power by their 
own exertions. Those who rely upon their 
teacher to educate them, will never be educated. 





^o -^ z ^ z== ^ __ _____ 

MAKE YOURSELF. 91 

They must educate themselves. Good teachers 
may give them some aid, but cannot do the 
work for them. They must do it themselves. 

Does any young person, strongly desirous 
of "making himself," ask how shall I acquire 
intellectual and moral power? It is to be ac- 
quired by performing intellectual and moral 
acts. Ask your teacher what and how you 
shall study, and study hard. The more strength 
you lay out in study, the more strength you 
will have. Seek to know what is your duty, and 
do it with great fidelity. The more diligently 
you do your duty, the more strength you will have. 
The more vigorously you exercise your mind in 
study, thought, and action, the more rapidly 
will your mind increase in strength. Resolve 
to attain intellectual and moral strength. Let 
others strive to attain wealth and reputation. 
Be it your endeavour to be a strong man intel- 
lectually and morally ; a powerful and faithful 
soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ. 





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92 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



THE WELL-ORDERED HOUSEHOLD. 

" Let all things be done decently, and in order." 

A cheerful household is that of Madam 
Von Amberg, and a busy one, too. Each mem- 
ber of it is up betimes in the morning, and all 
are busily engaged at some employment until 
evening. The lady often says : 

" There is too much work to be done in the 
world to allow any one to sit idly by, and look 
on. Every man, woman and child has some- 
thing to do ; if not for themselves, to help a 
poor, over-burdened neighbour." 

You must not think, however, that Madam 
Von Amberg is one of that very busy class of 
people, who overwork those under their control, 
with an. unfeeling exactness, for this is not the 
case. A more sympathizing and affectionate 
heart than her's never beat in a human bosom, 
as all who know her can testify. She is the 
common friend of all ; and the sad secrets of 
many hearts are unburdened to her, with the 
expectation of receiving sympathy, and what re- 
lief it is in her power to give : nor are any ever 
disappointed. Madam Von Amberg is a good 
illustration of the virtuous woman, whose charac- 
ter Solomon has drawn out in the last chapter 
of the Proverbs. 

" She riseth, also, while it is yet night, and 
giveth meat to her household, and a portion to 
her maidens. She seeketh wool and flax, and 








The well ordered liousekold. 



TI- 



THE WELL-ORDERED HOUSEHOLD. 93 

worketh willingly with her hands. She layeth 
her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold 
the distaff. She stretcheth out her hand to the 
poor ; yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the 
needy. Strength and honour are her clothing, 
and she shall rejoice in time to come. She 
openeth her mouth in wisdom ; and in her tongue 
is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the 
ways of her household, and eateth not the 
bread of idleness. Her children arise up and 
call her blessed ; her husband also, and he 
praiseth her. Favour is deceitful, and beauty 
is vain ; but a woman that feareth the Lord, 
she shall be praised." 

Just such a woman is Madam Von Amberg. 
She is not only diligent in the common business 
affairs of life, but also in the service of the 
Lord. 

While she spins the flax or wool for the use 
of her own family, or for that of some poor 
and sick neighbour, and her daughter Gertrude 
sews by her side, she entertains and instructs 
them with pleasant and profitable conversation. 
The artist has given us a good idea of them 
while thus employed. The little Paul is rather 
young, yet, to appreciate all a good mother's 
conversations, or to be of much use in the 
household, and now he is engaged in a spirited 
ride upon his mimic horse, with his dog as a 
companion. He will become weary of this sport 
very soon, and then he will sit down by his mo- 
ther and sister, and listen to their conversation, 



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91 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

and enter into many of their plans with quite 
as much pleasure as he now takes in his ride. 
The history of Katharine, the girl who is just 
bringing in a pile of newly-made linen for the 
madam's inspection, is an illustration of her 
benevolence. Shall I tell you her story ? 

One cold, stormy night, a knock was heard 
at the door of Mr. Von Amberg's kitchen. The 
servants started at the sound, for it seemed 
strange to them that any one should venture 
abroad on such a forbidding night; but when 
the door was opened, they were still more sur- 
prised to see a woman with a little child begging 
admittance. 

" What shall we do ? What will the madam 
say ?" asked the girl who opened the door, and 
who had but lately become a member of the 
household. 

" Why, tell her to come in, of course, Gretch- 
en," said another, who was better acquainted 
with her mistress' habits. " Tell her to come in, 
and go and tell madam. She would say what 
you might not care to hear, if you were to turn 
any poor creature away from the door, espe- 
cially on such a night as this." 

So Gretchen invited her in and bade her sit 
by the fire with her child, and dry their wet 
clothes while she called the lady. The woman 
mechanically took the seat which was offered, 
and now that she had gained a comfortable 
shelter, she seemed to yield passively to the 
effects of- cold and fatigue, and sank into a 

B. 1 







THE WELL-ORDERED HOUSEHOLD. 95 

stupor which she had hitherto exerted all her 
efforts to resist. 

Madam Von Amberg went up to her, and 
said kindly : 

" Good evening, friend. I am truly sorry 
that you have been so much exposed to the wet 
and cold ; but we will get some dry clothes for 
you, and I dare say you will soon feel quite 
comfortable." 

The woman opened her eyes languidly, but 
did not answer. Her child, a little girl two or 
three years old, began to cry. She drew the 
child up closer to her, and instinctively com- 
menced humming, in a low tone, a plaintive 
cradle lullaby. 

Madam Von Amberg gently removed the 
little one from her arms, and gave her into the 
care of one of the maids. Then, with her own 
hands, she prepared some warm gruel for the 
woman; while Gretchen, assisted by another 
girl, replaced her wet garments with dry ones. 
After the gruel and a strengthening draught 
were administered, she was glad to lie down and 
soon fell into a profound slumber. 

The next morning found her raving in the 
delirium of a fever. A physician was sent for, 
and every effort used for her recovery, but in 
vain. She died within a week from the night 
when she had applied for shelter. 

"What will become of the child?" asked 
Gretchen. 



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i 




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96 EOYS' AND GIRLS' SCRAP-BOOK. 

"Oh, madam will see to that," confidently 
replied the woman whom she addressed. 

" But she is such a puny, miserable little 
creature, that madam would surely never be 
troubled with her," said Gretchen. 

" Madam faithfully does all the work which 
the Lord gives her to do, whether it be easy or 
difficult, and without seeking for any earthly 
reward, either," answered the other with some 
spirit. 

And it w^as true. Immediately after the 
mother's death, Madam Von Amberg took little 
Katharine in her arms, and carried her into a 
room where her husband sat reading. 

" Whose child have you there ?" he asked ; — 
for he had just returned from a journey, and had 
scarcely seen the little girl or her mother. 

"It did belong to that poor sick woman," re- 
plied Madam Von Amberg, "but as she is now 
dead, it seems to me that the Lord has left 
her to our charge." 

" It will be too much of a care for you, 
Anna," said her husband, " and you had better 
not think of it." 

Madam Von Amberg paused for a moment, 
and then said earnestly — 

" The mother of the child is dead, and from the 
little I could learn during her illness, the father 
is dead, too ; and they must have been very 
poor. We will try to find out whether there 
are any friends left to claim the little orphan ; 
and if there are none, I hope you will let me 

cFtm ocfb 



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THE WELL-ORDERED HOUSEHOLD. 97 

keep it. It seems as if the language of Pro- 
vidence says plainly : ' Take this child, and 
nurse it for me.' " 

" Well, we will see about it," replied her 
husband, more than half consenting, and feeling 
entire confidence in her prudence as well as 
benevolence. 

The necessary inquiries were made, but the 
few relatives of the child that remained were 
found to be very poor, and neither able nor de- 
sirous of taking charge of the little girl, and 
Madam Von Amberg received her husband's 
full permission to follow out the benevolent 
wishes of her heart. And she has well fulfilled 
the trust. Katharine has been rightly brought 
up, and has profited by the instructions which 
she has received. She is a child of Grod, and 
strives to follow the injunction of the apostle, 
by being " Not slothful in business ; fervent in 
spirit; serving the Lord." Madam Von Am- 
berg feels, by her affectionate and dutiful beha- 
viour, well repaid for all the trouble which 
Katharine has ever cost her. 

This is one instance among many of the 
lady's well-directed benevolent exertions, and 
it must suffice ; while we turn again to her well- 
regulated household. 

There is no bustle or confusion there, for 

every thing has its proper place, and each duty 

its proper time of performance, and these are 

never allowed to intrude upon, or interfere one 

with the other. In this way she manages to 

9 



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98 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

accomplish more than many who seem to be 
more busy, and who are always surrounded by 
tumult and disorder. 

Madam Von Amb erg's disposition was not 
naturally thus industrious and orderly. In 
early childhood she was careless and impulsive, 
having no liking for useful employment ; and 
she had fallen into the bad habit of beginning 
many and various pieces of work, but scarcely 
ever completing one. But she became a Chris- 
tian while yet in her youth. Then she saw what 
a useless life she was leading, while there was 
so much to be done, and she became earnestly 
impressed with the desire of doing as much 
good as she could. It was a very difficult task 
for her to break through the idle and unsettled 
habits which she had formed, and to acquire 
habits of industry and order ; but she knew 
that it would be utterly impossible for her ever 
to lead a useful life without doing this. And 
she prayed earnestly for divine assistance, and 
used constant and persevering efforts ; and God 
heard her prayers, and blessed her efforts, mak- 
ing her what she is now. 

She is not wealthy, yet by industry and 
prudence she always has it in her power to give 
to those who are in need. She has the care of 
a large family upon her, yet by diligence and 
good management she discharges all the house- 
hold services that are required of her, and has 
sufficient time to devote to visits of cheering 




ad^ 



r i 

THE WELL-ORDERED HOUSEHOLD. 99 

sympathy to the poor and sick, and to the 
proper performance of all her religious duties. 
Then, too, these good habits tend to her own 
happiness and that of her family ; for there 
can be no comfort where irregularity and dis- 
order prevail. Above all, she is following the 
commands of God, who has said, " Whatsoever 
thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." 
Who can tell how much good a woman of 
Madam Von Amberg's disposition and charac- 
ter may accomplish ? The quiet and unobtru- 
sive, but diligent discharge of all the little daily 
duties of life may seem not very important, but 
it is these that make up its comforts ; and to 
perform these rightly, often requires more real 
strength of purpose than the daring acts of 
courage, to which ambition prompts men. Such 
a character sheds a brighter lustre upon the 
sphere in which it exerts itself, than if it was 
distinguished for a few brilliant deeds ; and the 
meek and quiet spirit is far more in harmony 
with the precepts and example of our Saviour, 
than the heroic daring which wins worldly ap- 
plause by a few splendid achievements. 




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^-pia cr^-p 

100 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 

Don't tell me of to-morrow ! 

Give me the man who'll say, 
Whene'er a good deed's to be done, 

"Let's do the deed to-day," 
We may all command the present, 

If we act and never wait ; 
But repentance is the phantom 

Of the past that comes too late. 

Don't tell me of to-morrow ! 

There is much to do to-day 
That can never be accomplish' d 

If we throw the hours away. 
Every moment has its duty, 

Who the future can foretell ? 
Then why put off till to-morrow 

What to-day can do as well ? 

Don't tell me of to-morrow ! 

If we look upon the past, 
How much that we have left to do 

We cannot do at last ! 
To-day ! it is the only time 

For all on this frail earth ; 
It takes an age to form a life ? 

A moment gives it birth. 



TLa 




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L 



FIRE-SIDE STORY ABOUT HONESTY. 101 



FIRE-SIDE STORY ABOUT HONESTY. 

One evening a poor man and his son, a little 
boy, sat by the way-side, near the gate of an old 
town in Germany. The father took a loaf of 
bread, which he had bought in the town, and 
broke it, and gave the half to his boy. "Not 
so, father," said the boy ; " I shall not eat 
until after you. You have been working hard 
all day, for small wages, to support me, and you 
must be very hungry ; I shall wait till you are 
done." " You speak kindly, my son," replied 
the pleased father; "your love to me does me 
more good than my food ; and those eyes of 
your's remind me of your dear mother who has 
left us, and wdio told you to love me as she used 
to do ; and indeed, my boy, you have been a 
great strength and comfort to me ; but now 
that I have eaten the first morsel to please you, 
it is your turn now to eat." " Thank you, 
father ; but break this piece in two, and take 
you a little more ; for you see the loaf is not 
large, and you require much more than I do." 
" I shall divide the loaf for you, my boy ; but 
eat it I shall not. I have abundance ; and let 
us thank God for his great goodness in giving 
us food, and in giving us what is better still, 
cheerful and contented hearts. He who gave 
us the living bread from heaven, to nourish our 
immortal souls, how shall he not give us all 
other food which is necessary to support our 
mortal bodies !" 



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1 

102 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

The father and son thanked God, and then be- 
gan to cut the loaf in pieces, and commenced 
their frugal meal. But as they cut one portion 
of the loaf, there fell out several large pieces of 
gold, of great value. The little boy gave a shout 
of joy, and was springing forward to grasp the 
unexpected treasure, when he was pulled back 
by his father. "My son, my son!" he cried, 
"do not touch that money; it is not our's." 
" But whose is it, father, if it is not our's ?" "I 
know not as yet to whom it belongs ; but pro- 
bably, it was put there by the baker, through 
some mistake. We must inquire. Run." 

"But, father," interrupted the boy, "you are 
poor and needy, and you have bought the loaf, 
and then the baker may tell a lie, and" 

" I will not listen to you, my boy ; I bought the 
loaf; but I did not buy the gold in it. If the 
baker sold it to me in ignorance, I shall not be so 
dishonest as to take advantage of him ; remember 
Him who told us to do to others as we would have 
others do to us. The baker may possibly cheat 
us ; but that is no reason why we should try and 
cheat him. I am poor, indeed ; but that is no 
sin. If we share the poverty of Jesus, God's 
own Son, oh! let us share, also, his goodness 
and his trust in God. We may never be rich, 
but we may always be honest. We may die of 
starvation, but God's will be done, should we 
die in doing it ! Yes, my boy, trust Grod, and 
walk in his tvays, and you shall never be put 
to shame. Now, run to the baker, and bring 

&Ln - — : n-Fb 



r === = ^ 

FIRE-SIDE STORY ABOUT HONESTY. 103 

him here ; and I shall watch the gold until he 
comes." So the boy ran for the baker. "Is it 
thine?" asked the father ; "if it is, take it away." 
"My father, baker, is very poor^ and" — "Si- 
lence, my child ; put me not to shame by thy 
complaints. I am glad we have saved this man 
from losing his money." The baker had been 
gazing alternately upon the honest father and 
his eager boy, and upon the gold which lay 
glittering upon the green turf. "Thou art, 
indeed, an honest fellow," said the baker; "and 
my neighbour, David, the flax-dresser, spoke 
but the truth when he said, thou wert the 
honestest man in our town. Now I shall tell 
thee about the gold : — A stranger came to my 
shop three days ago, and gave me that loaf, 
and told me to sell it cheaply, or give it away 
to the most honest poor man whom I knew in the 
city. I told David to send thee to me, as a 
customer, this morning; and as thou wouldst 
not take the loaf for nothing; I sold it to thee, 
as thou knowest, for the last pence in thy purse ; 
and the loaf, with all its treasure — and truly, 
it is not small ! — is thine ; and God grant thee 
a blessing with it !" The poor father bent his 
head to the ground, while the tears fell from 
his eyes. His boy ran and put his hands about 
his neck, and said, " I shall always, like you, 
my father, trust G od, and do what is right ; 
for I am sure it will never put us to shame." 



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104 boys' and girls' scrap-book, 



JAMES B. JONES. 

James B. Jones was a pious little boy, who 
feared and loved God when he was very young. 
God is so good to us, that we ought to love him. 
He gives us all that we have ; he takes care of 
us night and day ; he keeps us from being sick ; 
he sent his Son Jesus Christ to save us from 
hell ; and we cannot love him too much. 

The thought of these things made little James, 
when he was about four years old, throw his arms 
round his father's neck, and kiss him, and say, 
" I love you, father, and I love God ; and when 
I go to heaven I will kiss him too." This was 
the most simple and expressive way in which he 
could signify his love to God. 

But though he did not at this time know 
every thing about God, still he could love him 
for his goodness. As he loved God, so he loved 
to think of heaven, where pious children see 
the Saviour face to face. 

One day when he saw a sea-gull rise out of 
the sea, spread out its wings, and soar up to 
the sky — 

"Look, look!" he said, "brother William, 
when I die, I shall fly up to heaven like that 
bird." 

But children cannot go to heaven, unless 
they are made fit to go there. Little James 
could never fly up to heaven, as that sea-gull 




CL-Hi 



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JAMES B. JONES. 105 



flew up into the air, unless he learned to.be sorry 
for sin, to trust in Christ, to do the will of God, 
and to pray often for his grace. But all this 
he learned. When he once forgot to pray in 
the morning, he could not be quiet and happy 
through all the day ; and when he was ill, he 
often begged his father to pray with him, and 
he said he could not be comfortable without 
it. 

His fear of God made him love to do right. 
If his father told him to do any thing, he did 
it. If he was told not to speak of any thing 
which he heard, he never spoke of it. If he 
was sent with a message, he took care to say 
nothing but what he was told to say ; and he 
was never known by his father to tell one lie. 

The longer he lived, the more he loved God : 
and at last he had such joy in God, as very 
few older Christians have ; which made him say 
to his parents, "I am so happy, I know not 
what to do ; God has done so much for me. The 
day of my death will be happier than the day 
of my birth ; God loves me, and has pardoned 
all my sins. Who would have thought that God 
would be so kind to such a little boy as I am ! 
I am happy, I am very happy !" 

And so he passed away into glory, to be with 
Jesus Christ, in whom he trusted, when he was 
only nine years and nine days old. 



cFLd CLzFa 



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10G boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



AN ODD THOUGHT. 

Edmund Andrews was well known as a cruel 
boy. Cockchaffers, butterflies and birds, frogs 
and toads, dogs and cats, had all been ill-used 
by him in their turn ; and many a reproof had 
he received for his cruelty. 

As Edmund was passing by Burlton's barn, 
he saw Wilkinson, the old shepherd, busy with 
his pitch-kettle and iron, marking the sheep, 
which had been lately shorn, with the letters 
J. B. for John Burlton. 

" So you are putting your master's mark on 
the sheep, are you ?" said Edmund, as he walked 
up to the shepherd. 

"I am, Master Edmund," replied Wilkinson ; 
" but their Almighty Maker has put his mark 
upon them before." 

" What do you mean?" said Edmund, look- 
ing at the shepherd inquiringly. 

u I mean," replied Wilkinson, " that our Hea- 
venly Father, in his wisdom and goodness, has 
put marks upon all the creatures he has made, 
and such marks as none but he could put on 
them ; he gave brown wings to the cockchaffer, 
spots to the butterfly, feathers to the bird, a 
sparkling eye to the frog and toad, a swift foot 
to the dog, and a soft, furry skin to the cat. 
These marks are his marks, and they show us 




nd^ 




ONLY ONE BRICK ON ANOTHER. 107 

that these creatures belong to him ; and wo be 
to those who abuse them." 

" That is an odd thought," said Edmund, as 
he began to walk away from the spot. 

"It may be an odd thought," replied the 
shepherd, "but when odd thoughts lead us to 
glorify God, and to act kindly to his creatures, 
the more we have, Master Edmund, the better," 



ONLY ONE BRICK ON ANOTHER. 

Edwin was one day looking at a large build- 
ing which they w^ere putting up, just opposite to 
his father's house. He watched the workmen 
from day to day, as they carried up the bricks 
and mortar, and then placed them in their 
proper order. 

His father said to him, "Edwin, you seem to 
be very much taken up with the bricklayers, 
pray what may you be thinking about ? Have 
you any notion of learning the trade?" 

" No," said Edwin, smiling, "but I was just 
thinking what a little thing a brick is, and yet 
that great house is built by laying one brick on 
another." 

" Very true, my boy. Never forget it. Just 
so is it in all great works* All your learning 
is only one little lesson added to another. If 
a man could walk all around the world, it would 
be by putting one foot before the other. Your 




a 



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108 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

whole life will be made up of one little moment 
after another. Drop added to drop makes the 
ocean. 

" Learn from this not to despise little things. 
Learn also not to be discouraged by great la- 
bours. The greatest labour becomes easy, if 
divided into parts. You could not jump over a 
mountain, but step by step takes you to the 
other side. Do not fear, therefore, to attempt 
great things. Always remember that the whole 
of that great building is only one brick upon 
another. 



THE CALL. 

" They that seek me early shall find me." 

Children, listen to the call, 
Little children, one and all ; 
Jesus calls thee, come away, 
Seek the strait, the narrow way. 

Blessed Jesus ! he who died, 
Scourged, reviled, and crucified ; 
Jesus drank the cup for thee, 
Hear his message — turn and flee. 

Look, and see the crown of thorn, 
Who but Jesus such hath worn ? 
See his feet, his hands, his side, 
The Lord of Life thus crucified. 



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— — GT-^. 

L 

d 

THE FORGIVING SCHOOL-BOY. 109 

Children, Jesus died for me ; 
Little child ! he died for thee ; 
'Tis our sins the Lord hath slain, 
Shall his death be all in vain ? 

Seek him — they that seek shall find, 
Seek him with an earnest mind ; 
Jesus Christ, the undefiled, 
Waits to bless the humble child. 

Seek him, ere it be too late, 
Haste thee to the open gate ; 
Earthly honours all are dross, 
Seek the shelter of the cross. 



THE FORGIVING SCHOOL-BOY. 

In a school in Ireland, one boy struck an- 
other ; and when he was about to be punished, 
the injured boy earnestly begged for his pardon. 
The master inquired why he wished to prevent 
so deserved a punishment ; to which he replied 
that he had read in the New Testament that 
Jesus Christ said we should forgive our ene- 
mies ; " and I forgive him, and beg he may not 
be punished for my sake." 



10 



110 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



THE TREE THAT NEVER FADES. 

" Mary," said George, " next summer I will 
not have a garden. Our pretty tree is dying, 
and I won't love another tree as long as I live. 
I will have a bird next summer, and that will 
stay all winter." 

" George, don't you remember my beautiful 
canary-bird. It died in the middle of the sum- 
mer, and Ave planted bright flowers in the 
ground where we buried it. My bird did not 
live as long as the tree." 

" Well, I don't see that we can love any 
thing. Dear little brother died before the bird, 
and I loved him better than any bird, or . tree, 
or flower. Oh ! I wish we could have some- 
thing to love that wouldn't die." 

The day passed. During the school hours, 
George and Mary had almost forgotten that 
their tree was dying; but at evening, as they 
drew their chairs to the table where their mo- 
ther was sitting, and began to arrange the seeds 
they had been gathering, the remembrance of 
the tree came upon them. 

" Mother," said Mary, "you may give these 
seeds to cousin John. I never want another 
garden." 

"Yes," added George, pushing the papers in 
which he had carefully folded them toward 
his mother, "you may give them all away. If 



E 




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ONLY THIS ONCE. Ill 

I could find some seeds of a tree that would 
never fade, I should like then to have a garden. 
I wonder, mother, if there ever was such a 
garden." 

"Yes, George, I have read of a garden where 
the trees never die." 

"A real garden, mother ?" 

" I cannot say how real ; but in the middle of 
it, I have been told, there runs a pure river of 
water, clear as crystal, and on each side of the 
river is the tree of life — a tree that never fades. 
That garden is heaven. There you may love, 
and love for ever. There will be no death — no 
fading there. Let your treasure be in the tree 
of life, and you will have something to which 
your young hearts can cling, without fear, and 
without disappointment. Love the Saviour 
here, and he will prepare you to dwell in 
those green pastures, and beside those still 
waters." 



ONLY THIS ONCE, 



n 



" Only this once, mother. I should like to 
go once, just to see what it is like," said a 
youth about fifteen to his mother. 

"No, my love," she replied. "You know 
that I do not approve of the theatre ; you are 
not old enough to understand all the evils 
connected with it ; but take my word for it, 



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112 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

Reginald, that it is the last place where, as a 
Christian child, you should ask to go ; and while 
you are under my roof, I cannot let you go." 

"Oh! you should let him go once," said a 
friend who was present. "I have made a rule 
of letting my children go once to every thing 
of this kind, and then they see what- it is like, 
and can understand much better the reasons for 
keeping them away." 

"Well, that is what I say," cried Reginald, 
eagerly ; " if mother would only let me go 
this once, I would not ask to go again." 

Alas ! the specious argument worked upon 
the too yielding parent ; the permission to go 
that once was given, and what was the conse- 
quence ? The romantic, imaginative, excitable 
mind of the youth was so charmed, so riveted 
with the attractions of the stage, that his whole 
soul was engrossed with the tempting scene. 
His first acquaintance with the fascinations of 
theatrical representations only made him long 
to return again and again ; and finding his 
mother firmly resisted his wishes, he took op- 
portunities of going unknown to her; he be- 
came enamoured of the exciting scenes there 
enacted, and his mind could no longer settle 
down to his studies or enter into the sober re- 
alities of life. As he grew up he became a 
gay, dissipated young man ; his time was spent 
at the theatre and the opera ; he no longer en- 
joyed returning to the bosom of that happy 
family, where brothers and sisters were in the 



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BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. 113 

sunshine of domestic joy — where a mother's 
tender look of love still seemed to woo him to 
leave the paths of dissipation and vice, and 
once more gladden her heart by returning to 
that Saviour whom he had forsaken, to that 
home which he had rendered desolate. No ; 
the fatal plunge had been made, the fatal die 
had been cast ; he had chosen the world, with 
its sinful allurements and pleasures ; and the 
poor, sorrow-stricken parent was left to mourn 
in secret over the moment when she had been 
persuaded to yield to the pressing solicitation 
to let him go "but this once" to the theatre. 



BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. 




Filial kindness is always beautiful. There 
is not a more touching picture in the Bible than 
that of Ruth, w^hile answering the entreaties of 
her mother-in-law, Naomi, to return unto her 
own people : " Whither thou goest, I will go ; 
and where thou lodgest, I will lodge — thy peo- 
ple shall be my people, and thy God my God. 
Where thou diest, 1, will die ; and there will I 
be buried." 

" I will never marry a man who does not 
treat his mother well," said a lively friend to us 
once. "And why not?" we queried. " If he 
is unkind to her to whom he is so deeply in- 
debted," she replied, " what need one expect 

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114 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

from him, to whom he owes comparatively no- 
thing?" There was sound philosophy in this 
remark. Most of our truly great men have 
been noted for the kindness, yea, reverence 
even, with which they have treated their mo- 
thers. Washington revered his — Roger Sher- 
man treated his with the most marked attention ; 
and it was one of the famous Judge Story's last 
requests, that he might be buried beside his 
mother in Mount Auburn. But filial respect 
and love is not often rewarded as in the follow- 
ing instance. 

Gustavus III., king of Sweden, passing one 
morning through a village, in the neighbour- 
hood of the castle, observed a young peasant-girl 
of interesting appearance, drawing water at a 
fountain at the way-side. He went up to her, 
and asked her for a draught. Without delay, 
she lifted up her pitcher, and with artless sim- 
plicity put it to the lips of the monarch. Hav- 
ing satisfied his thirst, and courteously thank- 
ed his benefactress, he said, "My girl, if you 
would accompany me to Stockholm, I would 
endeavour to fix you in a more agreeable situ- 
ation." 

" Ah, sir," replied the girl, "I cannot accept 
your proposal. I am not anxious to rise above 
the state of life in which the providence of God 
has placed me ; but if I were, I could not for 
an instant hesitate." • 

"And why?" rejoined the king, somewhat 
surprised. 

3 

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BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. 115 

"Because," answered the girl, colouring, 
"my mother is poor and sickly, and has no one 
but me to assist or comfort her under her many 
afflictions ; and no earthly bribe could induce 
me to leave her, or to neglect the duties which 
affection requires from me." 

"Where is your mother?" asked the mo- 
narch. 

"In that little cabin," replied the girl, point- 
ing to a wretched hovel. 

The king, whose feelings were interested in 
favour of his companion, went in, and beheld 
stretched on a bedstead, whose only covering 
was a little straw, an aged female, weighed 
down with years, and sinking under infirmities. 
Moved at the sight, the monarch addressed 
her. 

" I am sorry, my poor woman, to find you in 
so destitute and afflicted a condition." 

"Alas ! sir," answered the venerable woman, 
" I should be indeed to be pitied, had I not that 
kind and attentive girl, who labours to support 
me, and omits nothing she thinks can afford me 
relief. May a gracious God remember it for 
her good!" she added, wiping away a tear. 

Never, perhaps, was Gustavus more sensible 
than at that moment, of the pleasure of pos- 
sessing an exalted station ; and, putting a purse 
into the hand of the young villager, he could 
only say, " Continue to take good care of your 
mother ; I shall enable you to do so more ef- 



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116 



BOYS AND GIRLS SCRAP-BOOK, 



fectually. Good-by, my amiable girl, you may 
depend upon the promise of your king." 

On his return to Stockholm, Gustavus settled 
a pension for life on her mother, with the re- 
version to her daughter at her death. 



YOUTHFUL PIETY. 

While some reject the Saviour's rule, 
And turn from wisdom's way, 

Wise children love their Sunday-school, 
And keep the Sabbath day. 

They do not idly rove the street, 

Among the bad and bold, 
But sit and learn at Jesus' feet, 

As Mary did of old. 

Oh happy they who thus refuse 

The road by sinners trod ; 
Who early learn and wisely choose 

The path that leads to God. 

Still may the words of sacred truth 
Their earliest thoughts engage ; 

These shall direct and guide their youth, 
And these support their age. 



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EXAMPLE FOR BOYS. 117 



EXAMPLE FOR BOYS. 

When the late Rev. Robert Hall, of Bristol, 
England, was about six years of age, on start- 
ing from home on Monday, it was his practice 
to take with him two or three books from his 
father's library, that he might read them in the 
intervals between the school-hours. The books 
he selected were not those of mere amusement, 
but such as required deep and serious thought. 
Before he was nine years of age he had read 
the hard treatises of Dr. Jonathan Edwards, 
and a work called Butler's Analogy, on all of 
which he must have thought very much, or he 
could not have found so much pleasure in read- 
ing them. Before he was ten years old he had 
written many essays, principally on religion, 
and he often preached very sensibly to his 
brothers and sisters. Robert Hall grew up to 
be a great man. Everybody respected him for 
his fine talents, which he had nursed from his 
infancy; and even those who were so wicked as 
not to like his religion, admired his understand- 
ing. This was owing to his early diligence, 
and God's blessing upon it. 



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118 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



THE SMALL PLANETS AND LITTLE CHILDREN. 

" I HAVE just been reading a book in which I 
met with this beautiful thought : ' As the small 
planets are nearest the sun, so little children 
are nearest to God.' I was so much pleased 
with it, that I send it in hopes that you will 
print it for others." 

It is a beautiful thought, and there is truth 
in it ; and we would love to have it before the 
minds of our young friends. " Suffer the little 
children, and forbid them not to come unto me, 
for of such is the kingdom of heaven," were the 
words of the Son of God. And the same Sa- 
viour said, " Except ye be converted and become 
as little children, ye shall not enter into the 
kingdom of heaven." And unless you are con- 
verted, you are wandering farther from God, 
every day you live, and farther from heaven. 
When the Lord takes infants out of this world, 
he takes them to himself. Like the small 
planets they are nearest to the centre of all 
light and joy and love ; but if you are growing 
up in sin, and die in sin, where God is you can- 
not come. 

If you would be near God always, you must 
be like him. You must turn from every evil 
way, and love the Saviour, who died that you 
might be pardoned and saved. 



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THE BOYS AND THE BALL. 119 



THE BOYS AND THE BALL. 

A pleasant incident occurred in a public 
school some time since. It seems that the boys 
attending the school, of the average age of 
seven years, had, in their play of bat and ball, 
broken one of the neighbour's windows, but no 
clue to the offender could be obtained, as he 
would not confess, nor would any of his asso- 
ciates expose him. The case troubled the teach- 
er; and on one of the citizens visiting the 
school, she privately and briefly stated the cir- 
cumstances, and wished him, in some remarks 
to the scholars, to advert to the principles in- 
volved in the case. The address had reference 
principally to the conduct of boys in the streets 
and at their sports ; the principles of rectitude 
and kindness which should govern them every- 
where, even when alone, and when they thought 
no one was present to observe. The scholars seem- 
ed deeply interested in the remarks. A very 
short time after the visiter had left the school, a 
little boy arose from his seat and said, " Miss 
L., I knocked the ball that broke the window. 
Another boy threw the ball, but I hit it, and it 
struck the window. I am willing to pay for it." 
There was a deathlike silence in the school as 
the little boy was speaking, and continued for 
a minute after he had closed. a But it won't 
be right for one to pay the whole for the glass," 
said another boy, rising in his seat. " All of us 



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120 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



that were playing should pay something, be- 
cause we were all engaged alike in the play; I'll 
pay my part!" "And I!" "And I!" A 
thrill of pleasure seemed to run through the 
school at this display of correct feeling. The 
teacher's heart was touched, and she felt more 
than ever the responsibility of her charge. 



JAMES SIMPSON. 



Among the recollections of my youth there 
are none more vivid than those of one whom I 
will call James Simpson, a young, and now an 
elderly man, whose years are not far from my 
own. He had been taught in his childhood by 
pious parents, and knew his duty as well as any 
boy of the school to w T hich he and I were sent 
when we were about a dozen years old. James 
had a tender conscience. He would not do the 
wrong thing when he knew what was right ; and 
though the other boys sometimes laughed at his 
squeamishness, as they called it, he said that if 
the boys laughed at him, God was pleased with 
him, and he thought that of more consequence. 

I recollect a Saturday afternoon when we 
were all off in the woods gathering chestnuts, 
and had received permission to gather as many 
as we wanted in the woods of Mr. Kichards, 
but not finding them as abundant there as w T e 
expected, w T e were quite disposed to cross the 



ro 



JAMES SIMPSON. 121 

hill, and try the trees on the farm of another 
man, to whom we had made no application. 
The whole party agreed to it except James and 
one other. They stood out decidedly, and when 
it was urged that the owner would have no ob- 
jection to our getting them, James, who was 
always ready with a reason, said that was an 
argument against stealing them. It would be 
wrong to take them, he said, from a man who 
was stingy, and surely it would be wrong and 
very mean to take them without leave from a 
man who would give them to us if we should 
ask him. 

" Yes," the rest said, "but who is going to 
ask him ? It is more than a mile down to his 
house, and nobody will go that far to ask for 
chestnuts." 

"I' will go," said James, "if you will all 
promise to stay here till I come back ; or if you 
are in such a hurry to get the nuts, just look 
out for me, and when I come out of the lane 
down there at the foot of the hill, if I swing 
my cap, you may start, and I will come on and 
get as many as I want." 

"Agreed! agreed!" they all cried, and away 
went James on the full run down hill. He was 
not long on the way ; he did not let the grass 
grow under his feet ; and it was not more than 
twenty minutes before he made his appearance 
swinging his hat with all his might. The boys 
set up a shout that he might have heard, and 
were just starting off for the woods, when one 

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122 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

of them said he thought it too bad to leave 
Jimmy come on alone, when he had taken so 
much trouble for them. This was received with 
general applause, and we all ran down to meet 
him, and when we overtook him, he met us 
with a face beaming with smiles, and said the 
old farmer told him we might get as . many as 
we liked, only we must not break our necks. 
This we had no notion of doing, and after we 
had picked as many as we could well carry 
home, w T e left, and, tired with our afternoon's 
work, trudged back to school. 

As we were walking homeward, with less ex- 
citement than we came up, one of the boys said 
the chestnuts were very heavy. 

" But they are not so heavy," said James 
Simpson, " as they would have been, if we had 
6 hooked' them." 

" Right for you, and you are always right, 
or about right," the other answered, and by 
common consent it was agreed, that in all future 
expeditions, we would respect the rights of 
property, and never enter even the woods of a 
man, to get his fruit, without first gaining his 
permission. 

Now this incident was a very simple one, but 
it had a very strong and a very lasting effect 
upon the whole school. Not one of those boys 
but thought more of James Simpson than they 
did before, and all of them felt that the way to 
be happy and take real comfort in the pursuit 
of pleasure, was to do right. 



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JAMES SIMPSON. 123 

But James and the rest of us, (except one 
bright fellow, the merriest of that chestnut 
party, who died in the South, where he went as 
a clerk w^hen he was sixteen years old,) with 
this exception, and I drop a tear as I write, we 
all grew up to be men. James went into busi- 
ness, and the same strict regard for the rights 
of others has marked him all the way through 
life, and gained for him the confidence of the 
whole community. He gave his time to his em- 
ployers with the most scrupulous integrity, for 
he said to himself, and sometimes he ventured 
to make the remark to those who were with him 
in the store, it was quite as wrong to take an 
employer's time as it was to take his money. 

This was being faithful in that which was the 
least, and a lad who would not cheat an em- 
ployer out of a minute of time, would not be 
likely to neglect his interests or waste his mo- 
ney. This was observed, and it laid the found- 
ation for that great success in business and that 
eminent reputation for integrity that now dis- 
tinguishes him among the merchant-princes of 
the day. He may, or he may not, have forgot- 
ten his early school-mate, w^ho took quite a dif- 
ferent turn in life, and became a gospel-preach- 
er, and now writes this sketch of old times, but 
if his memory of the past is as good as mine, 
he will not fail to recall the chestnuts and his 
run down hill. 

Boys, there is a lesson in this for you, and I 
reckon that you will learn it, without the aid 



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124 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

of a sermon to help you. Be honest and true. 
Do the right thing in matters that appear small, 
and form a habit of integrity. Not because 
this is the best policy, though we know it is : 
but be honest, because God loves honesty, and 
it is right. 




ADVICE TO CHILDREN. 



Don't be eye-servants. Never slight or slack- 
en your hand because the eye of your parent 
or teacher is not upon you — but strive to be 
more studious, more orderly, more persevering, 
more dutiful and obedient. Remember the eye 
of God is upon you, the Searcher of all hearts, 
who will bring every secret thought, word and 
action into judgment. Some children are 
loose, idle, slack, play truant, act the hypocrite, 
slight their work, or neglect it entirely, unless 
they are watched, drilled, and driven — driven 
to their duty ! Shameful ! Do such children 
honour their parents ? Are they happy ? Is 
not God angry with them every day ? Children, 
God says, " Obey your parents in all things," 
yes, "in all things, for this is well pleasing in 
the sight of the Lord." 

Never tease. When your parents or teachers 
say " nay," be still; say, "Amen; all right; 
father knows best. I submit cheerfully, without 
a scowl or murmur," A spirit of teasing is a 





r~H3 3= IT 

THE GREEN PASTURES. 125 

spirit of selfishness and rebellion. It is as 
much as to say, " Father, I'll have my way. I 
know best. Mother, I know better than you, 
let me do as I please." 

Be neat. Jack Spruce was a neat boy. He 
had a brush for his clothes, and kept them clean 
and nice. He would not run out into the mud, 
and thus splash his clothes and wet his feet, nor 
did he kick up the dust; and when he came in, 
he would rub his feet on the mat, and hang up his 
hat upon his own hook. No one saw him with 
dirt on his hands, nor with a rough head of 
hair, so he was at all times fit to be seen. He 
did not tear his book or blot it, or ink his hands 
at school. 



THE GREEN PASTURES. 

I walk'd in a field of fresh clover this morn, 
Where lambs play'd so merrily under the 
trees, 

Or rubb'd their soft coats on a naked old thorn, 
Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease. 

And under the hedge ran a clear water brook, 
To drink from when thirsty, or weary with 

And so gay did the daisies and butter-cups look, 
That I thought little lambs must be happy 
all clay. 

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126 BOYS' AND GIRLS' SCRAP-BOOK. 

And when I remember the beautiful D8alni 
That tells about Christ and his pastures so 
green ; 

I know he is willing to make me his lamb, 
And happier far than the lambs I have seen. 

If I drink of the waters, so peaceful and still, 
That flows in his field, I for ever shall live ; 

If I love him, and seek his commands to fulfil, 
A place in his sheepfold to me he will give. 

The lambs are at peace in the fields when they 
play ; 
The long summer's day in contentment they 
spend ; 
But happier I — if in God's holy way, 

I try to walk always, with Christ for my 
friend. 

__ 

! 
MY MOTHER! 

" What would I give," said the talented 
Charles Lamb, " to call my mother back to 
earth for one day, to ask her pardon upon my 
knees, for all those acts by which I gave her 
gentle spirit pain!" 

Remember this, children, and be kind to your 
mothers. 




1 

THE TWIN-DAUGHTERS. 127 



THE TWIN-DAUGHTERS 

i 



Here is a very pretty story of a little girl. 
Perhaps you have read it before, but it will do 
you good to read it again. 

"A mother who was in the habit of asking 
her children, before they retired at night, what 
they had done during the day to make others 
happy, found a young twin-daughter silent. 
The elder one spoke modestly of deeds and dis- 
positions founded on the golden rule, 'Do unto 
others as you would they should do unto you.' 
Still the little bright face was bowed down in 
silence. The question was repeated, and the 
dear little child said, timidly, 'A little girl 
who sat by me on the bench at school, had lost 
a baby brother. All the time she studied her 
lesson she hid her face in her book and cried. 
I felt so sorry that I laid my face on the same 
book and cried with her. Then she looked up 
and put her arms around my neck ; but I do 
not know why, she said I had done her so much 
good.' " 

But the little girl who was weeping because 
her brother was dead, knew very well why it 
did her good. It is better to weep with those 
that weep, than to laugh with those that are 
glad. You are young now, and do not feel the 
sorrows of others, and have none of your own ; 
but you may find pleasure in trying to do good 




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128 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

! I 



in a thousand ways, and you will never be so 
happy as when you are striving to lighten the 
sorrows of others, or to increase their joys. 

Not far from my house is the low dwelling in 
which an old couple of coloured people live. 
They have long been unable to take care of 
themselves, and the neighbours are in the habit 
of seeing to their wants. The other day I saw r 
a little boy carrying a pail of water in, and 
when I called, I asked the old woman if Johnny 
Jameson was willing to wait on her in that way. 
" Oh yes," said she, " he is a dear, good boy; 
he comes every morning, and brings in the 
water and makes a little fire, and puts on the 
tea-kettle ; and he is such a nice handy little 
creature, that I do love him 'most to death." 

This was very good in Johnny, and w 7 hen I 
met him on going out I gave him a sixpence, 
and he thanked me for it with a smile, and then 
said that he would give it to old Nancy ; it would 
get her something nice for dinner. A right 
good boy Johnny is, and, if he grows up with a 
love to do good to others, he will become a no- 
ble and useful man. He is now only ten years 
old, but he is known in all the houses of the poor 
around here as one of the best friends they have. 

His sister goes every afternoon, and reads 
the Bible and good books to these old people, 
and they think that she is a young angel. 
They never could read, and now they are made 
happy by hearing her sweet voice as she reads 
the Psalms and those parts of the Bible that 




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THE BOY AND HIS ANGEL. 129 



are so well suited to give comfort to the af- 
flicted. 

Her name is Mary. Do you know that this 
word Mary comes from a word in the old He- 
brew tongue that means a tear-drop ? and if her 
name has such a meaning as this to it, how much 
it should be like her to feel for those who are 
not blessed with the comforts which she enjoys. 
Mary ought to be gentle, and kind, and tender- 
hearted ; she ought to be like the Mary in the 
Bible, who loved to sit at the feet of Jesus and 
hear the words of salvation as they fell from 
his holy lips. 



THE BOY AND HIS ANGEL. 

"Oh! mother, I've been with an angel to-day; 
I was out alone in the garden at play, 
Chasing after the butterflies, watching the bees, 
And hearing the woodpecker tapping the trees ; 
So I play'd and I play'd till so weary I grew, 
I sat down to rest by the side of a yew ; 
While the birds sang so sweetly high up in its 

top, 
I held my breath, mother, for fear they would 

stop. 
Thus a long while I sat gazing up in the sky, 
And watching the clouds that went hurrying by, 
When I heard a voice calling just over my head, 
That sounded as if — ' Come, brother !' it said. 





130 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

And there, right up in the top of the tree, 
mother ! an angel was beckoning to me ! 

And 'Brother,' once more, 'Come, broth- 
er,' he cried, 
And flew on light pinions close down by my 

side ; 
And mother, oh, never was being so bright, 
As the one wilich then beam'd on my wonder- 
ing sight ; 
His cheeks were as fair as the delicate shell, 
His hair down his shoulders in long ringlets fell, 
While his eyes resting on me, so melting with 

love, 
Were as soft and as mild as the eyes of a dove. 
And somehow, dear mother, I felt not afraid 
As his hand on my brow he caressingly laid, 
And murmur' d so sweetly and gently to me, 
' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for 

thee.' 
And then on my forehead he tenderly press'd 
Such kisses — oh, mother ! they thrill' d through 

my breast 
As swiftly as lightning leaps down from on high, 
When the chariot of God rolls along the dark 

sky; 
While his breath, floating round me, w T as soft 

as the breeze 
That play'd in my tresses, or rustled the trees. 
At length on my head a deep blessing he pour'd, 
Then plumed his bright pinions, and upward he 
soar'd ; 



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THE BOY AND HIS ANGEL. 131 

Up, up he went through the blue sky so far, 
He seem'd to float there like a glittering star ; 
Yet still my eyes follow'd his radiant flight, 
Till lost in the azure, he pass'd from my sight. 
Then, oh, how I fear'd, as I caught the last 

gleam 
Of his vanishing form, it was only a dream ! 
When soft voices murmur'd once more from the 

tree, 
' Come, brother, the angels are waiting for thee !' ' 

Oh, pale grew that mother, and heavy her heart, 
For she knew her fair boy from this world must 

depart ; 
That his bright locks must fade in the dust of 

the tomb, 
Ere the autumn winds wither'd the summer's 

rich bloom. 
Oh, how his young footsteps she watch'd day 

by day, 
As his delicate form wasted slowly away, 
Till the soft light of heaven seem'd shed o'er 

his face, 
And he crept up to die in her loving embrace ! 
"Oh, clasp me, dear mother, close, close to 

your breast, 
On that gentle pillow again let me rest — 
Let me once more gaze up in your dear, loving 

And then, oh, methinks, I can willingly die ; 
But kiss me, clear mother, oh, quickly, for see, 
The bright, blessed angels are waiting for me!" 




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132 boys' and girls' .scrap-book. 

Oh! wild was the anguish that thrill'd through 

her breast, 
As the long, frantic kiss on his pale lips she 

press' d ; 
And felt the vain search of his soft, pleading 

As it strove to meet her's, e'er the fair boy 

could die. 
" I see you not, mother, for darkness and night 
Are hiding your dear, loving face from my sight, 
But I hear your low sobbings, dear mother, 

good-by; 
The angels are waiting to bear me on high ; 
I will wait for you there, but oh, tarry not 

long, 
Lest grief at your absence should sadden my 

song." 
He ceased, and his hands meekly clasp'd on 

his breast, 
While his pale face sank down on its pillow of 

rest ; 
Then closing his eyes, now all rayless and dim, 
Went up with the angels that waited for him. 



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SHALL NOT BLUSH FOR THEIR FATHER. 133 



THEY SHALL NOT BLUSH FOR THEIR 
FATHER. 

Two men had entered into an agreement to 
rob one of their neighbours. Every thing was 
planned. They were to enter his house at 
midnight, break open his chests and drawers, 
and carry off all the gold and silver they could 
find. 

" He is rich, and we are poor," said they to 
each other, by way of encouragement in the 
evil they were about to perform. " He will 
never miss a little gold, while its possession will 
make us happy. Besides, what right has one 
man to all of this world's goods ?" 

Thus they talked together. One of these 
men had a wife and children, but the other had 
none in the world to care for but himself. The 
man who had children went home and joined 
his family, after agreeing upon a place of meet- 
ing with the other at the darkest hour of the 
coming night. 

" Dear father," said one of the children, 
climbing upon his knee, " I'm so glad you have 
come home." 

The presence of the child troubled the man, 
and he tried to push him away ; but his arms 
clung tighter about his neck, and he laid his 
face against his cheek, and said in a sweet and 
gentle voice — 

" I love you, father." 

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134 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

Involuntarily the man drew the innocent and 
loving one to his bosom and kissed him. 

There were two older children in the man's 
dwelling, a boy and a girl. They were poor, 
and these children worked daily to keep up the 
supply of bread, made deficient more through the 
idleness of the father than from lack of employ- 
ment. These children came in soon after their 
father's return, and brought him their earnings 
for the day. 

"Oh, father!" said the boy, "such a dreadful 
thing has happened. Henry Lee's father was 
arrested to-day for robbing. They took him out 
of our shop, when Henry was there, and car- 
ried him off to prison. I was so sad when I 
saw Henry weeping. And he 'hung his head 
for shame — for shame of his own father ! Only 
think of that." 

The man did not reply to the words of his 
son, but turned his face partly away to conceal 
its expression. 

"Ashamed of his father!" thought he. 
"And will my children hang their heads, also, 
in shame ! No, no. That shall never be !" 

At the hour of midnight the man who had 
no children was waiting at the place appointed, 
for him whose children had saved him. But 
he waited long in vain. Then he said — 

" I will do the deed myself, and take the 
entire reward." 

And he did according to his word. When the 
other man went forth to his labour on the next 

&hj3 CLzfh 





REVERENCE FOR AGE. 135 



day, he learned that his accomplice had been 
taken in the act of robbery, and was already in 



" Thank heaven for virtuous children !" said 
he with fervour. " They have saved me. Never 
will I do an act that will cause them to blush 
for their father." 



REVERENCE FOR AGE. 

Reverence is always due to aged people. 
God, nature, and a proper education say to the 
young, Reverence old age. Gray hairs are a 
crown of glory when found in the way of right- 
eousness. 

I love the youth who reverences the aged 
always, and whoever they are. youth, revere 
thy aged friend; respect those silver locks so 
whitened by the toiling hardships of many long 
years. 

Carry thyself kindly and reverently toward 
the infirm and old, tottering onward to the tomb 
in bereaved loneliness, and though for it thou 
be singular from the thousands of youths about 
thee, badly trained on this point, God shall 
bless thee for it. 




prison ! 



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136 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 

Did you ever hear the story of Little Tommy ? 
Abraham Croft was Tommy's father. Abraham 
Croft had a father who was very fond of him, 
and very kind to him. One day the old man 
said to his son, "Abraham, I wish to give you 
this house and garden, and these acres of land, 
and all I will ask of you is, that you will 
let me live with you, and take care of me while 
I live." " Oh, very well," said Abraham; " I 
will." When Abraham got the house and land, 
he thought himself a great man. He married, 
and had cows and horses and carts. The old 
man went out every morning to the garden, and 
worked all day for his son, as long as he had 
strength, and was always very glad to see his 
son happy. Abraham had, after a time, a son, 
whom his parents called Tommy, As he grew 
up, he became very fond of his grandfather. 
In the evening he climbed his knee, as he sat 
by the fire, and asked him to tell him stories. 
In the day he went to the garden, where his 
grandfather was digging, to watch the little 
worms as he turned them up with his spade, 
and to look at the robins picking them up. 
The old man caught a bad cold, and coughed 
very much. He was not able to work, so he was 
obliged to remain in the house, in bed, or at 
the fire, to keep himself warm. Tommy's 



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HONOUR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER. 137 

mother soon became very cross to the old man : 
he gave, she said, so much trouble, and took up 
so much room ; getting his breakfast and dinner 
took up so much of her time, and that he was 
good for nothing. His son also became very cold 
in his manner, and did not speak to him ; and one 
day, when something annoyed him, he said to 
his old father, " How can people be bothered 
with you here ? You ought to go to the work- 
house." The old man felt his son's words cutting 
him to the heart ; he was very uncomfortable ; he 
rose up from the fire, took his stick, and tried 
to make his way into the garden. He sat down 
in an old house that was cold and damp ; he 
got a fit of coughing, and became sick, and was 
pained in heart. Tommy went out after him, 
and when he saw him he was very sorry. " Go 
in, Tommy," said the old man, " and bring me 
out the quilt that is on the bed, and I will put 
it about me and go to the workhouse." Poor 
little Tommy went with a heavy heart, sobbing 
all the way, and he thought his heart would 
break. As he was going for the quilt he met 
his father. "Where are you going?" said he. 
" I am going for grandfather's quilt to put 
about him, as he says he is going to the 
workhouse." "Let him go," said Abraham; 
"the workhouse is the proper place for him." 
Tommy got the quilt, and brought it to his 
father, and said, " Father, cut this in two for 
me." "What for?" said the father. "Because," 
said he, "half of it will be enough for grand- 

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138 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

father, and the other half will do for you when 
I am a man, and turn you out of my house." 
" What !" said Abraham, " mv own son to turn 
me out ! But I am turning my father out !" He 
hung down his head, and tears fell from his 
eyes. He went to the garden, and said " Oh, 
father, will you forgive me, and all. the days 
of your life I will be a kind son to you? 
Come and take your seat at the table, and your 
own place at the fire." His good old father for- 
gave him, and kissed him. Tommy's heart danced 
when he saw and heard what had passed. The 
old man came in, and tried to be cheerful ; but 
he did not live long. Unkindness had broken 
his heart. He went to his bed : his little 
Tommy was always at his bedside. The last 
thing the old man saw was Tommy weeping, 
and the last sounds he heard were words of 
kindness from Tommy's lips. He gave Tommy 
his blessing, and closed his eyes in death. 
Dear children, pray to God to make you always 
kind to your parents, who are so good to you. 





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THE HEAVENLY LAMB. 139 



THE HEAVENLY LAMB. 

A MESSAGE FOR VERY LITTLE CHILDREN. 






Did you ever spend a nappy day ? Perhaps 
you will answer, "I have spent a great many 
happy days." What made those days so happy ? 
Was it that you w T ent into the country to play 
on the green grass ? Or was it that you had a 
new book ? or was it that you saw again your 
kind grand-mother ? Or your eldest sister, who 
is away from home ? Or your eldest brother, 
who is gone to sea ? I do not know what made 
you happy on your happy days. I am going 
to tell you of a happy day which two men 
spent. I think you will say, " It must have 
been a happy day." 

Once there was a good man who preached 
to a great many people. He wore only coarse 
clothes, and did not preach in a pulpit, but 
under a tree, or by the water-side. His name 
was John ; there were some men who liked to 
be with him, and these men were called his dis- 
ciples. Once he was standing in the country, 
with two of his disciples, when he saw a man 
walking along a little way off. When John 
saw this man he looked at him, and then said 
to his disciples, "Behold the Lamb of God." 
What did John mean ? Was it a lamb he saw ? 
No, it was a man. Why did he call him a 





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140 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

lamb ? I will tell you why. That man was 
God as well as man ; he was the Son of God, 
and he had come down from heaven to die — yes, 
to die for our sins. God the Father sent him 
down to die for us, that we might not go to 
hell, and be punished for ever and ever. The 
Son of God was like a sweet and gentle lamb, 
and was willing to die for us, though he had 
done no sin. How much pleased John was to 
see him ! John loved him, and he wished his 
disciples to love him too. 

One of those two disciples was called Andrew. 
I do not know the name of the other. If you 
had been Andrew, what would you have done 
when you heard John say, " Behold the Lamb 
of God?" I think I hear you answer, "I 
would have gone after that gentle Lamb." 
That is what Andrew did. The two disciples 
went after the Son of God. His name was 
Jesus. While they were walking behind him, 
Jesus turned and said to them, " Whom seek 
ye?" How kind it was in the Son of God 
to speak to these poor men ! They answered, 
" Master, where do you live?" Jesus said, 
"Come and see." Was not this kind? The 
two men went to the house where Jesus lived. 
Did he ask them to come in ? Yes, he did, and 
he let them stop with him all the rest of the 
day. 

Must not that have been a happy day ? It 
was a day spent with the Son of God. You 
never spent such a day as that. Yet Jesus 

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I 
THE HEAVENLY LAMB. 141 

could make you happy every day, for he can 
come into your heart. Should you not like to 
see the house where Jesus lived when he was 
in this world ? I cannot show you that, but I 
can tell you where Jesus is now. He is in hea- 
ven. If you wish to see him, ask him to take 
you there when you die. He is very kind, and 
hears children when they pray to him. 

I have a little more to tell you about 
Andrew. He loved Jesus so much that he 
wanted his brother to know him too. He had 
a brother called Simon, and he said to him, 
" We have found the Christ." It was Jesus that 
he meant ; he called him the Christ. Simon 
did not know where Jesus lived, but Andrew 
did, and he showed his brother the .way. How 
pleasant it is when brothers are kind to each 
other ! As soon as Jesus saw Simon, he knew 
who he was without being told, and he knew 
the name of his father, too, and he said, 
" Thou art Simon, the Son of Jonas." Jesus 
knows the name of every one. He knows your 
name, and your father's name, and your mother's 
name. Jesus gave Simon a new name ; he 
called him Peter. 

Dear child, what are you like? Are you a 
child of God, or a child of the wicked one ? If 
you are a child of God you are like a gentle lamb, 
and Jesus is your Shepherd, and carries you 
in his arms. If you are a child of the evil one, 
then you are like the evil one. How wicked he 
is ! He loves sin, and hates God. 



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142 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

I love the Lamb who died for me, 
I love his little lamb to be ; 
I love the Bible, where I find 
How good my Saviour was, and kind ; 
I love beside his cross to stay, 
I love the grave where Jesus lay ; 
I love his people and their ways, 
I love with them to pray and praise ; 
I love the Father and the Son, 
I love the Spirit he sent down ; 
I love to think the time will come, 
When I shall be with him at home. 




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LILLY IN THE SULKS. 143 



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LILLY IN THE SULKS. 

I KNOW a little girl, not more than twelve 
years old, who is a great favourite with her 
young friends, and would be all that her parents 
desire, were it not for one fault. She is very 
pleasant when she can have her own way, and 
is so full of fun and frolic, that it is sunshine 
all day when Lilly is near ; but she must have 
her own way, or she gets the sulks. 

Do you know what "the sulks' are ? 

" No, I do not. I never heard of the sulks." 

Well, I will tell you of Lilly and one of her 
capers; and I think you will know what I 
mean, when you see how Lilly can act some- 
times when she cannot do just exactly as she 
would like. 

It was Lilly's birthday. She was eleven 
years old. With great pleasure she had looked 
forward to that day for many weeks, for her 
kind mother had promised her that on that day 
she should have a ride into the country, and 
have a number of her playmates for company. 
There is a beautiful lake about four miles from 
the house, and there it was arranged that Lilly 
and her young friends should go about three 
o'clock in the afternoon of a pleasant day of 
June, and taking with them the tea-things, they 
were to have a fine time of it under the shade 
of the trees and on the banks of the pleasant 
sheet of water. The family carriage would 



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144 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

easily take six little girls, and the driver was a 
good trusty man, who would see that no harm 
come to the children while they were on their 
frolic. 

Now this was certainly a lovely prospect, and 
no wonder that Lilly set her heart upon it. It 
was to be her party, and on her birthday; and 
she was to ask the girls, and take them in her 
father's carriage, and have a tea-party, and a 
ride, and a frolic, and all out in the woods, by 
the side of the lake. She was quite as much 
excited as the May Queen who wanted her mo- 
ther to call her so early in the morning when 
she was to be crowned. 

The birthday came. Yes it did come at last, 
though Lilly began to think it never would come, 
it was so slow. But it came with a storm of 
rain ! It was cool and cloudy the day before, 
and in the course of the night it began to rain. 
And when Lilly rose the next morning, it was 
coming down in a slow, steady, cold storm, that 
promised to keep right on in the same dismal 
way all day, and more too. 

Lilly was angry at the rain. She said it al- 
ways rained when she wanted to go anywhere, 
and never rained when the other children's 
birthday came. Then she began to pout and 
grow sullen, and then sank down into w T hat we 
call the sulks. She didn't wish anybody to 
speak to her, or to speak to any one. She 
went up-stairs after breakfast, and sat down on 
a chair by the window, and looked out into the 



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LILLY IN THE SULKS. 145 



rain, with swollen eyes, red cheeks, and a hard 
complaining heart. Her mother came up to 
try and comfort her by telling her that it would 
be pleasant to-morrow, and she should go then, 
if she behaved well to-day; but she was too 
sulky to be satisfied with any such arrange- 
ment, and her mother then told her that her 
conduct was such as greatly displeased her pa- 
rents, and must be very displeasing to God. 
Still she was sulky, refusing to say a w T ord, 
even in her own defence. 

Lilly's father came home, and asking for his 
daughter, w^as told that she had shut herself in 
her room in a fit of the sulks. He went up- 
stairs, and without asking her any questions as 
to the state of her feelings, set before her with 
much plainness the sinfulness of her conduct, 
and the misery it must bring with it so long as 
she continued to give way to this disagreeable 
temper. " And now, Lilly, my daughter," said 
he, " I do not ask you if you are sorry, for I 
see that you are not. You are still murmuring 
at the providence of God, and are provoked 
that you cannot have your own way. You are 
a wicked girl, and must be punished. And I 
shall punish you by letting you have your own 
way. You have chosen to come up here into 
your bedroom, and have nothing to do with the 
rest of the family, who would be glad to enjoy 
the day in-doors with you. You might be 
happy with them, and have your party some 
other day ; but as you have preferred to be sulky, 



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146 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

and sit here by yourself, you will now stay 
where you are till to-morrow morning. I will 
see that your dinner and supper are sent up to 
you, and you can go to bed when you are ready ; 
but I hope not till you have repented of your 
sinful feelings and actions. To-morrow morn- 
ing you can come dow T n, if you feel better. 
But if you rise with the same sulky disposition 
that you have now, you may stay here till I 
call for you." 

Lilly was struck with surprise at this sen- 
tence passed upon her by her father, and she 
burst into tears. She thought she had a right 
to feel just as badly as she pleased, if she 
only did not hurt anybody else. But she 
was now taught that her heart was wrong, 
and she was punished for feeling wicked- 
ly as well as for acting as no good child would 
act. Her father paid no attention to her tears, 
but left her to cry it out, and then to reflect 
upon her conduct. 

It was a long and sad birthday for little 
Lilly. About the middle of the afternoon she 
began to reason with herself in this way: — " I 
am a very naughty girl to be fretting all to 
myself because it rains when I want to go out. 
God makes it rain, and God is good. He 
knows what is best. I ought to be ashamed of 
acting so, and I do feel ashamed. I wonder 
now, if God will forgive me for being such a 
naughty girl." 

After she had thought so for some time she 



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LILLY IN THE SULKS. 147 



kneeled down, and prayed that God would give 
her a new heart, and forgive her for being so 
ungrateful and wilful. 

She rose from her knees with a more cheer- 
ful spirit than she had felt since it began to rain. 
But as it would not be right for her to venture 
down-stairs, she got her sewing and worked 
away for a while, and then read some ; and as 
the shades of evening drew on, she laid aside 
her book and thought again and long of the 
sinfulness of her conduct, and resolved that she 
would hereafter try to be a better girl. 

Lilly went to bed early. It was hard work 
to keep up, and she was quite willing to hide 
her head under the clothes and go to sleep. 

At breakfast next morning, she made her 
appearance with a bright face and sweet smile. 
As she kissed her parents, she said she would 
never be such a wicked girl again, and I think 
she has improved greatly within a few months 
past. 

But the great fault with Lilly is that when 
her parents tell her that she must not do some- 
thing on which her heart is set, she at once puts 
on a sorry face, and looks cross, and sometimes 
speaks very unpleasantly, so that her parents 
are grieved, and no one who sees her is pleased 
with her. — If any of the readers of this story 
are in the habit of pouting when they cannot 
have their own way, I beg them to reform with- 
out any delay. It is a very bad habit, and is 
very offensive to their friends, and to God. 



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148 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



1 



EARLY TO BED AND EARLY TO RISE. 

" Early to bed, and early to rise" — 

Ay, note it down in your brain, 
For it helpeth to make the foolish wise, 

And uproots the weeds of pain. 
Ye who are walking on thorns of care, 

Who sigh for a softer bower, 
Try what can be done in the morning sun, 

And make use of the early hour. 

Full many a day for ever is lost 

By delaying its work till to-morrow ; 
The minutes of sloth have often cost 

Long years of bootless sorrow. 
And ye who would win the lasting wealth 

Of content and peaceful power, 
Ye who would couple labour and health, 

Must begin at the early hour. 

We make bold promises to Time, 

Yet, alas ! too often break them ; 
We mock at the wings of this master of kings. 

And think we can overtake them. 
But why loiter away the prime of the day 

Knowing that clouds may lower ? 
Is it not safer to make life's hay 

In the beam of the early hour ? 



a zzzz , — zzz — ^ EL 



THE CROCODILE. 



Do boys and girls know that the big oak was 
once a little twig — an acorn ? That the mon- 
strous elephant in the menagerie was once as 
little as one of themselves ? Do the boys know 
that the drunken man who was taken to the 
workhouse to-day in poverty and raggedness 

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EARLY TO BED AND EARLY TO RISE. 149 

Nature herself ever shows her best 

Of gems to the gaze of the lark, 
When the spangles of light on earth's green 
breast 

Put out the stars of the dark. 
If we love the purest pearl of the dew, 

And the rich breath of the flower, 
If our spirits would greet the fresh and the 
sweet, 

Go forth in the early hour. 

Oh, pleasure and rest are more easily found 

When we start through Morning's gate, 
To sum up our figures, or plough up our ground, 

And weave out the threads of fate. 
The eye looketh bright, and the heart keepeth 
light, 

And man holdeth the conqueror's power, 
When, ready and brave, he chains time as his 
slave, 

By the help of the early hour. 



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150 BOYS AND GIRLS' SCRAP-BOOK. 

and disgrace, had once the control of his appe- 
tite, and could drink or refrain, just as he chose ? 
But he did not choose to refrain, and now his 
habits have grown stronger than his resolutions, 
and he is disgraced, and will very likely die so. 
He is now like the big oak — his habits are fixed 
and shaped. So with that Sabbath-breaker. 
He began by trespassing a little on the Lord's 
day, and now he is a confirmed despiser of 
God's commandment. 

Do any of my readers ask, Are we in 
danger ? I answer, most assuredly if you do 
not love and obey God. Your habits will 
grow just as the oak grew, or the elephant. 
Soon, — unless you conquer them now, — they 
will be too strong for you. Yes, you may yet 
be sent to the workhouse by the growth of habits 
which are now as small as the acorn. Nav, 
you may die and even be lost, by the destruc- 
tive power of an appetite which is now but a 
twig in strength. What then ? Why, deter- 
mine to resist all habits in the growth of 
which there is danger. Cultivate nothing which, 
if matured, would grow too strong for you. 
Habits are, in some respects, every thing. They 
make or unmake us. They bless or curse the 
grown-up man or woman. And yet they may 
now be controlled and even fashioned into a 
shape to do us good. Come, then, to this reso- 
lution, to trample upon and destroy them, be- 
fore they get strength to destroy you. 




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THE CROCODILE. 151 



THE CROCODILE. 

(A Fable, for Utile folks and great ones too.) 

On the banks of the fertile and many-mouth'd 

Nile, 
A long time ago lived a fierce crocodile, 
Who round him was spreading a vast desolation, 
For bloodshed and death seem'd his chief occu- 
pation ; 

'Twas easy to see 
No pity had he ; 
His tears were but water — there all could agree. 

The sheep he devour'd, and the shepherd, I 

ween; 
The herd fear'd to graze in the pastures so 

green, 
And the farmer himself, should he happen to 

meet him, 
The monster ne'er scrupled a moment to eat him. 
There never before 
Was panic so sore, 
On the banks of the Nile, as this creature 

spread o'er. 

Wherever he went, all were flying before him, 
Though some in their blindness thought fit to 
adore him ; 



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152 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

But as they came near, each his suit to prefer, 
This god made a meal of his base worshipper. 

By day and by night 

It was his delight 
His votaries to eat — it was serving them right. 

Grown proud of his prowess, puff'.d up with 

success, 
The reptile must travel — how could he do less ? 
So one fine summer morning, he set out by 

water, 
On a pleasure excursion — his pleasure was 

slaughter ! 

To Tentyra's isle, 
To visit awhile, 
The careless inhabitants there to beguile. 

Though the Tentyrites thought themselves able 

before 
To conquer each monster that came to their 

shore, 
Yet now they, with horror, were fain to confess, 
That this crocodile gave them no little distress. 
So in great consternation, 
A grand consultation 
Was called to convene, of the heads of the 

nation. 

It met ; but, alas ! such the terror and fright, 
They fail'd to distinguish the wrong from the 
right ; 



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THE CROCODILE. 153 

When just at this crisis, an Ichneumon small 
Stept forth on the platform, in front of them all, 

With modesty winning, 

To give his opinion 
Of measures and means to secure the dominion. 

" Grave sirs," said he, bowing, "I see your 

distress, 
And your griefs are, I fear me, past present 

redress ; 
Yet still, if to listen should be your good 

pleasure, 
I think I can help you, at least, in a measure : 
For 'tis my impression, 
A little discretion 
Than valour itself is a far greater blessing. 

"No doubt, 'tis a noble and great undertaking, 
Great war on a mighty great foe to be making; 
But still, I assure you, 'tis better by far 
Not to let this great foe become mighty for war. 

While the crocodile lies 

In an egg of small size, 
To crush him at once you should never despise. 

"You see me before you, a poor, feeble creature ; 

Yet I cope with this monster — for such is my 
nature, 

And while you have met here in grand consulta- 
tion, 

This one crocodile to expel from the nation, 



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154 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

I thought it a treat 
For breakfast to eat 
A dozen or more, which I happen'd to meet." 

And now that my fable is pretty near ended, 
I think there should be a brief moral appended ; 
Beware how you let evil habits grow up : 
While feeble and young, you to crush them may 
hope ; 

But let them remain 
Till strength they attain, 
You may find your best efforts to conquer them 
vain. 



THE LATE PRESIDENT POLK AT COLLEGE. 

Some boys think that whatever habits they 
have at school or college, they can easily throw 
them off when the time comes. A little indul- 
gence in morning naps, or a little tardiness in 
attendance upon lessons, will not be of much 
consequence one way or the other, they think. 
Perhaps it will turn out to have much more 
influence upon the character than they suppose. 

The biographer of the late President Polk 
says that "he was distinguished at college for 
laborious application to his studies, and by a 
strict conformity to the regulations of the in- 
stitution. He was always present at recitations, 



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PRESIDENT POLK AT COLLEGE. 155 

and invariably attended morning and evening 
prayers in the chapel." 

How much these excellent habits had to do 
with his future history we have no means of de- 
termining exactly ; but it is clear that some 
very manifest qualities commended him to pub- 
lic confidence, for we are told that at the age 
of twenty-six he was clerk of the Legislature 
of Tennessee; at twenty-eight, a member of 
the body ; at thirty, he was elected to Con- 
gress, and continued a member of the House 
of Representatives for fourteen years, during 
the last four of which he was its speaker ; at 
forty-four, he was chosen Governor of Tennes- 
see ; and at forty-nine, President of the United 
States — the youngest of all who have filled that 
chair. Early habits are the elements of future 
character. 





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! I 156 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



TWO STORIES OF THE BLIND. 

My heart has been touched by the stories 
that I am about to tell you. They are about 
two children who lost their sight ; and when 
you read them, I would have you thank God 
that you have eyes to see with, while you re- 
member, that if you should lose your sight you 
should not murmur, for God doeth all things 
well. 

THE BLIND BOY. 

Once there was a good little boy in Scotland, 
about eight years old, who took the small-pox ; 
and when he grew better it was found it had 
shut up both his eyes, so that he could see 
nothing. He had been such a gentle, good 
boy, that all the family loved him, and led him 
about, and were very kind to him. He had a 
a little sister Annie, twelve years old, who used 
to find amusements for him, and when warm 
weather came she would take him to walk in 
the country. 

One day they took a long walk, and sat down 
at the foot of a great tree. " Annie," said 
James, "what a pleasant day this is ! The air 
feels so soft and so warm to my face. I hear 
the brook racing over the smooth stones, and 
the sheep and lambs bleat. How I wish I 
could see them again ! Hark ! there is a thrush 
singing over our heads. Oh ! how beautiful it 



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TWO STORIES OF THE BLIND. 157 



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used to be to sit down here, and look to the far- 
away hills and the clear blue sky, and see the 
mill yonder, and the pretty ducks in the pond ! 
Ah, Annie, I think I shall never see these 
things again." 

Then the little boy thought how dismal it would 
be to be always blind and dark, and felt so help- 
less and sad ; and he began to cry. " Don't 
cry, Jamie," said his dear sister; " may-be 
you'll see yet. There was Daniel Scott, you 
know, had the small-pox, and was blind for 
weeks; but he got well, and now he sees as 
well as anybody. Besides, you know," said 
she, " God will do right about it, as dear mo- 
ther says ; and if he leaves you to be blind, 
will make you happy some other way. Besides, 
we all do what we can for you ; and I will read 
to you, and it will not be so bad." 

But poor James kept thinking of his misfor- 
tune, and sat down with his head bent upon his 
hands, with his elbows on his knees, and kept on 
crying. The flood of tears pressed their way 
between his eyelids, which had been fastened 
together, and when he lifted up his head he cried 
out, " Oh, Annie, I can see ! There's the brook, 
and the mill, and the sheep ! Oh how glad I 
am!" Annie was as joyful as he, and hurried 
him to return home so as to tell the good news ; 
but James could hardly walk, for he wanted so 
to look about him. " Oh !" said he, " how little 
do children know of the blessing of sight ! If 

14 

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158 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

they had only lost it awhile, like me, they would 
never cease to thank God for eye-sight." 

You may think how pleased they all were at 
home. At night, when the father prayed in 
the family, and came to thank God for restor- 
ing dear little James, he wept for joy. James 
soon got his sight completely, and when he 
grew up to be a man, he never forgot to be 
grateful to his Heavenly Father that he was 
not always blind. 

THS BLIND GIRL. 

Alice was sitting up, and was so anxious for 
our coming, and so happy at the thought of 
seeing once more, that she had quite a rosy 
colour in her cheeks. The doctor looked at her 
very sadly, and said, " How d'ye do" to her, 
with a very soft and kind voice. 

She seemed hardly to hear him, but said 
very quickly, with a pleasant smile, "Now, 
doctor, must I take off the handkerchief?" and 
raised her hand to take out the pin which 
fastened it. 

6 Not yet, my clear," said the doctor, taking 
hold of her hand ; " I wish to say something 
to you first. I fear, Alice, that you are going 
to be very much disappointed. You have no 
idea how very bad your eyes are. They give 
you no pain, and therefore you think there can- 
not be much the matter with them ; but, my 
dear child, those are not the worst diseases of 

,3 




1 



TWO STORIES OF THE BLIND. 159 

the eye which give the most pain. You think 
that this handkerchief keeps you from seeing ; 
but I am afraid when I take it off you will see 
very dimly — very dimly indeed — nay, Alice, I 
may as well tell you all — I fear that at present, 
at least, and perhaps for many days to come, 
you will not see at all." 

As Dr. Franks spoke, the smile had gone 
from Alice's lip, and the colour from her cheek ; 
so that when he was done, instead of the bright, 
happy face she had when we came in, she was 
looking very pale and very sad. She seemed 
to have forgotten the handkerchief, her hands 
hung down in her lap, and she did not speak a 
word. 

Both the doctor and I were much grieved 
for her, and Mrs. Scott's tears fell upon her 
head, as she stood leaning over the back of her 
chair. Alice did not weep — indeed, she seemed 
quite stunned. 

After a while, the doctor said, " Alice, this 
handkerchief is of no use to you, and it must be 
very warm and unpleasant ; shall I take it off ?" 

Her lips moved, and she tried to say, " Yes, 
sir," but we could scarcely hear her. 
♦ It was taken off. Alice kept her eyes shut 
for a little time, and then opened them sudden- 
ly, and turning them first toward the window, 
looked slowly round the room, then shut them 
again without saying a word. She soon opened 
them, and looking toward the doctor, said, in 
a low, faltering voice, ".Doctor, is it night?" 



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160 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

"No, iny child, it is not more than four 
o'clock in the afternoon." 

She was silent a minute, then said, " Is it 
cloudy?" 

" No, Alice, the sun is shining brightly." 

She was again still for a little while — the 
tears began to come into her eyes, and her lip 
quivered very much, as, speaking again, she 
said, "Are the windows shut?" 

The doctor again answered her, "No, they 
are open and the sashes raised." 

Poor Alice covered her eyes with her hands 
for a second ; then stretching out her arms, and 
turning her head around, as if looking for some 
one, she cried mournfully, "Mother! mother! 
where are you ?" 

" Here, my own precious child," said Mrs. 
Scott, and, coming round to the side of the chair, 
she put her arms around her, and drew her head 
down upon her bosom. 

Alice did not cry aloud, but her tears came 
fast, and her sobs were so deep, that it seemed 
as though her heart would break with this great 
sorrow. 

The doctor said softly to Mrs. Scott, "Per- 
suade her to go to bed as soon as you can," and 
then both he and I went out, for we knew her 
mother would be her best comforter. 



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THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 1G1 

THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 

A soldier ! a soldier 

I'm longing to be ! 
The name and the life 

Of a soldier for me ! 
I would not be living 

At ease and at play ; 
True honour and glory 

I'd win in my day. 

A soldier ! a soldier 

In armour array' d — 
My weapons in hand — 

Of no contest afraid ; 
I'd ever be ready 

To strike the first blow, , 
And to fight my good way 

Through the ranks of the foe ! 

But then let me tell you — 

No blood would I shed — 
No victory seek o'er 

The dying and dead. 
A far braver soldier 

Than this would I be — 
A warrior of Truth 

In the ranks of the Free ! 

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162 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

With the Right for my helmet, 

And Faith for my shield, 
The sword of the Spirit 

I'd learn how to wield : 
And then against Evil 

And Wrong would I fight, 
Assured of the triumph 

Because in the right. 

A soldier ! a soldier 

Oh then let me be ! 
Young friends, I invite you — 

Enlist now with me, 
Our bands will be muster 'd ; 

' Our foes shall give way ; 
Let's up and be clad 

In our battle array ! 



COMMON MEECIES. 




A gentleman was once stopped in the streets 
of London by a stranger, who asked him, " Did 
you ever thank God for your reason?" 

" I don't know that I ever did," the gentle- 
man replied. 

"Do it quickly, then," said the stranger, 
" for I have lost mine." 

We are very liable to forget to thank God 
for his common mercies, whose greatness we 
can never duly estimate till we have experi- 
enced their loss. Did you ever thank God for 
eye-sight ? 




c^pa cr: t£ 



THE BROKEN GLASS. 163 



THE BROKEN GLASS. 

One evening, not long since, I was sitting 
at the hour of twilight by a pleasant, bright 
fire. My little children were gathered round 
me and began to beg, as they usually do at that 
hour, for a story. 

I had one ready for them, and told them of 
a little boy, who, while throwing his ball in his 
mother's parlour, broke a large looking-glass. 
He knew that he deserved punishment, and 
would probably receive it, as he had often been 
told not to toss his ball in the house ; and as 
he stood thinking what he should do, it occurred 
to him that as no one saw him throw the ball, 
no one need know that he broke the glass ; 
so, when questioned upon the subject, he denied 
any knowledge of the manner in which the glass 
was broken ; and when questioned again, he 
denied again still more strongly. 

I then asked the children what would have 
been the right thing for the little boy to do. 
All but one answered, " He ought to have told 
the truth at once;" but little Philip made no 
answer. "What do you think, my boy?" I 
asked of Philip. Still no reply. I took no 
more notice of him then, but finished my story, 
and ended by enjoining it upon them to tell the 
truth at all times. " No matter what you have 
done," said I, " confess it at once; and, if you 
are punished, depend upon it you will be a great 

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164 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



deal happier than if bearing about in your 
breast an unconfessed and unforgiven sin." 

I then had occasion to leave the room for 
some minutes, and when I came back I found 
little Philip on the floor as if in great agony, 
and sobbing as if his heart would break, and 
the children all came running to me and asking, 
"Mother, what is the matter with Philly? He 
has been crying so ever since you went out, and 
will not tell us what ails him." I said, "What 
is the matter, my son?" No answer, but sobs 
and tears. " Are you sick ? " " No, mother." 
" Are you hurt ? " "No, mother." " Tell me 
what makes you cry, then?" But he only 
cried the more. 

At length he got up, and laying his head on 
my shoulder, with hands before his face, while 
his tears fell over my dress, he said, sobbing and 
catching his breath between each word, "Mo — 
ther — I — would — tell — you — if — I — could !" 
I then took him into my own room, and said, 
" Come, my son, I cannot have this matter go 
on so any longer ; you must tell me what it is. 
If you have done any thing wrong, tell me so at 
once." But he only sobbed out, "Oh, dear 
mother, I cannot do it." 

I had never seen the child act so before, and 
began to be alarmed ; so I took him on my lap, 
and told him that if he had done any thing 
wrong, he would be much happier if he told it 
at once. "Don't you remember," said I, "when 
you got a splinter in your hand the other day, 

TLp - = =mS 



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THE BROKEN GLASS. 165 

and you would not have it taken out because 
you thought it would pain you, how your hand 
festered and became very sore, and the longer 
the splinter was in your hand the sorer it became, 
till at length you suffered so that you determined 
you would have it out ; and though it pained you 
more than if you had allowed me to take it out at 
first, yet in a moment you were relieved and free 
from pain? Just so it is," said I, " with the 
sin in your heart, Philip. There is something 
there rankling and festering, and yet you have 
not the courage to draw it out. It is harder to 
do it now than it was at first; but it will 
be still harder to-morrow than to-day. So 
speak up, my son, and tell mother what you 
have done. Have you broken any thing?" 
" Oh yes, mother." " Well, what was it ?" 

After some entreaty and a good many more 
tears, the story at length came out. It was, 
that he had that day taken a tumbler to the 
pump and broken it. No one saw him break 
it ; and as he had been forbidden to take a 
tumbler to the pump, he knew he deserved to be 
punished for disobedience. So he determined to 
say nothing about it, and in the midst of his 
play had nearly forgotten it, until my story 
roused his slumbering conscience, and he began 
to see how wicked he had been. 

Perhaps some of my young readers will say, 
" Only a tumbler ! What a foolish boy to make so 
much ado about breaking a tumbler !" So it was 
only a tumbler broken — and yet did not Philip 



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166 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

sin against God ? first, in disobeying the command 
of his mother, and then in endeavouring to hide 
his fault. And is any sin against G-od a light 
matter ? Philip had broken one of God's com- 
mandments, and God says, " He that offends 
in one point, is guilty of all." 

Let those who think Philip's sin a light 
matter try to remember what sins they have 
committed, small or great. Is there no disobe- 
dience to parents, no Sabbath-breaking, no pro- 
faneness, no deceit? And if you have been 
faithful in these things, can you not call up 
many an open sin against God's law, and many 
a neglected duty, any one of which, unforgiven, 
must destroy the soul? You can make no 
atonement to God for your sin ; but there is One 
who has died that your sins may be forgiven. 
The only way in which you can ever be saved is 
by believing on him. 

Perhaps you think he will not receive you 
now, even if you go to him ; and that you must 
first go through a long season of distress and 
weeping, as people often do. True, those who 
see their sins and trust not in Christ for mercy, 
must remain in darkness and distress. They 
are like little Philip, who cried and mourned 
because he would not confess his sin ; but as 
soon as he confessed it to his mother, and to 
God, he found peace. So it is with sinners. It 
is because they will not go to Christ that they 
are in distress and anguish. Jesus does not 
say to them. " Go and spend some weeks or 



12 zzz^z^^rrzzz=:=z::^z^zzzzz^ ad j 




I WILL TRY. 167 

months in tears and sorrow, and then come to 
me;" but he says, "My son! My daughter! 
Give me thy heart !" " Now is the accepted 
time." Will you not do it now ? 



I WILL TEY. 



"I will try," was the motto of Alice Merton. 
When her teacher gave a difficult sum in arith- 
metic, and asked her if she could do it, she 
always said, " I will try." And she did try, 
and usually succeeded. One time the teacher 
gave all the scholars some verses to commit to 
memory. Some said, " Oh, I can learn them 
easy enough ;" while others said, " Oh dear, I 
shall never learn them." " Well, Alice, what 
do you think about it ?" "I will try," was the 
simple response. The next day they were 
called to recite. Those who were so confident 
in their own success failed, and the rest did no 
better. At last it came to Alice. She repeated 
every verse without a single mistake. She 
received the approbation of her teacher, and 
the congratulations of her school-mates, who 
assured her they would adopt her motto. 

Now, Alice was, by no means, quick at learn- 
ing ; but she applied herself closely, and became 
the best scholar in the school, and won, at the 
examination, a medal, upon which was engraved 
her favorite motto, "I will try." If all young 






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168 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

persons, instead of becoming discouraged at 
difficulties which constantly present themselves, 
would say, " I will try" they would generally 
overcome every obstacle. 



THE MISER'S DAUGHTER. 

One cold winter, when the ground was so 
covered with snow that the little birds could not 
find any thing to eat, the little daughter of a 
miserly rich man gathered up all the crumbs she 
could find, and was going to carry them out and 
scatter them on the snow. Her father saw her, 
and asked her what she was going to do. She 
told him, and he said, " What good will it do ? 
The crumbs will not be enough to feed one in 
a hundred of the birds." "I know it, dear 
father," said she, " but I shall be glad to save 
even one in a hundred of them, if I cannot save 
them all." 

The father thought a moment. He knew that 
many poor persons were suffering in the village, 
and he had refused to help any, because he 
could not help them all. His conscience struck 
him, and he told his little daughter to break a 
loaf of bread into crumbs for the birds, while he 
went to scatter loaves among the poor villagers. 



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qJTT3 &~~Yn 

ELDER WITHERS' YOUNG FOLKS. 169 



ELDER WITHERS' YOUNG FOLKS. 
FROM A COUNTRY PASTOR'S SKETCH-BOOK. 

June 10, 18 — . The venerable and univer- 
sally beloved Reuben Withers has been gathered 
to his fathers to-day. I have been looking over 
the diary of former years, and find that he has 
filled a large space in it, and some of the most 
precious and some of the most painful entries 
that this old note-book contains are of him and - 
his. When I came to this parish he was one 
of the most active men in it, although he was 
then among the fathers, and he has always 
seemed to me a patriarch, even when he wanted 
half a score of being three-score and ten. 

He married later in life than most men do, 
and his family were young when his head was 
snow white. When I first settled here I was 
struck with the devotion that the brothers and 
sisters ever showed to each other. It seemed 
to me it must be as happy a household as the 
world often witnesses. Such a kind considera- 
tion of each other's feelings ; such willingness 
to deny themselves for the sake of pleasing the 
rest ; such universal regard for parental counsel, 
and desire to promote the general happiness, 
were rare virtues ; and they gave me great 
pleasure as I studied them in the retirement of 
the old family mansion. Here it was that I 
learned what I often thought I knew before, 

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170 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

that happiness is not confined (even if ever 
found) in Wilton-carpeted saloons and Eliza- 
bethan sofas and arm-chairs. Since I knew 
the Withers' family I have seen something of 
the world, and have had the best means of 
forming a judgment as to the relative pro- 
portions of enjoyment in silks and in calico, in 
broadcloth and homespuns, and the conclusion 
is altogether in favour of the latter. I have 
some "rich relatives" in the city, and we ex- 
change visits often enough to give me the op- 
portunity of knowing how they live in town, 
and how much life is worth to those who spend 
it in brick walls, and get their pleasures made 
for them by all sorts of dealers in the arts and 
designs essential to fashionable existence. And 
I have found the need of that admirable precept 
of the apostle, to be content with our lot ; not 
so much for myself, as for my friends, who, it 
seems to me, could not be contented with theirs 
if they knew how much more there is worth 
living for up here than down there. One winter 
evening with the Withers' family is more to be de- 
sired, in my humble judgment, than a whole life 
of what is called fashionable enjoyment in the 
metropolis. Yet was it no other than is seen and 
enjoyed in thousands of Christian families in 
the country, where intelligence and virtue shed 
the highest charms over the circle of warm and 
loving hearts, and parental fondness glows like 
a sun on the faces of a group of children, re- 
flecting its beams in their smiles of gladness 



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ELDER WITHERS' YOUNG FOLKS. 171 



and words of glee. Books were there, and 
they were well read. All that was going on in 
the great world was well known in that house, 
and the passing events of the day were the 
subject of sensible remark. The younger child- 
ren were amusing themselves with some innocent 
and instructive games, while the more advanced 
were at their needles, and the grown-up lads 
made as much amusement as was meet with 
their incessant talk of what they had done or 
seen or heard, and what they would do when 
they came to be men. Some of the young folks 
of the neighbouring farms dropped in while 
they were thus engaged, and a new element of 
pleasure was thus infused, which readily mingled 
itself into the mass, and made the whole vastly 
more gay than before and less quiet. By-anfl- 
by, the heaping dish of apples came out in the 
hands of the eldest daughter, and nuts were 
cracked by the boys. The hickory fire and 
heaps of glowing coals invited the spider — 
an iron dish with a long handle and flat 
bottom — to be set on, and into it were thrown 
the grains of small red corn which was raised 
especially for this purpose, and w^hen it w~as 
heated, another instrument, called a slice, being 
a flat shovel, used for removing bread from 
the oven, was ready heated in the fire and 
now laid over the spider ; the heat thus sud- 
denly brought to bear upon the top of the corn 
causes the mass to explode almost simulta- 
neously, and the whole was soon popped into 

s. $ 



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172 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

beautiful white balls, which were emptied into 
a bowl, and the spider filled again for a repe- 
tition of the operation. 

Now the costly and elegant dwellers in the 
up-town palaces of the metropolis would be quite 
shocked to witness this employment, or, more 
likely, pass it over as unworthy even of con- 
tempt ; and it is probable that few of them are 
aware even of the existence of a state of society 
so barbarous as to tolerate such social prac- 
tices as eating apples, and (save the word) 
popping corn! They have their amusements 
and pleasures that suit their tastes, and more 
fitly represent the inclinations of their minds. 
But for real, rational enjoyment give us the 
pure air — the broad landscape, the simple man- 
ners and the uncorrupted virtue of country life. 
None ever left the humble but hospitable home 
of Elder Withers without the conviction, that 
in the fear and service of God there is great 
present peace and pleasure, as well as the hope 
of everlasting life. 




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"AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER ?" 173 



"AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?" 

Must I my brother keep, 
And share his pain and toil ? 

And weep with those that weep, 
And smile with those that smile, 

And act to each a brother's part, 

And feel his sorrows in my heart ? 

Must I his burden bear, 
As though it were my own ; 

And do as I would care 
Should to myself be done ; 

And faithful to his interests prove, 

And, as myself, my neighbour love ? 

Must I reprove his sin ? 

Must I partake his grief? 
And kindly enter in, 

And minister relief — 
The naked clothe, the hungry feed, 
And love him, not in word, but deed ? 

Then, Jesus, at thy feet 

A student let me be ; 
And learn, as it is meet, 

My duty, Lord, of thee : 
For thou didst come on mercy's plan, 
And all thy life was love to man ! 

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174 boys' and girls' scrap-book, 



Oh, make me as thou art, 
Thy Spirit, Lord, bestow — 

The kind and gentle heart 
That feels another's wo ; 

That thus I may be like my Head, 

And in my Saviour's footsteps tread. 



LETTER TO A LITTLE GIRL. 

The following pleasing letter was addressed 
by William Wirt to his daughter, eight years of 
age. 

Richmond, Sept. 13, 1811. 

My dear Laura — I would have answered your 
letter sooner, but that my courts and my clients 
hardly leave me time to write to your dear mo- 
ther, to whom, of all other earthly creatures, 
you and I owe our first duties. But I have not 
loved you the less for not writing to you ; on 
the contrary, I have been thinking of you with 
the greatest affection, and praying for you on 
my bended knees, night and morning, humbly 
begging of God that he would bless you with 
health and happiness, and make you an orna- 
ment to your sex, and a blessing to your pa- 
rents. But we must not be like the man that 
prayed to Hercules to help his wagon out of 
the mud, and was too lazy to try to help him- 
self. No, we must be thoughtful ; try our very 



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LETTER TO A LITTLE GIRL. 175 

best to learn our books, and to be good ; and 
then, if we call upon our Father in heaven, he 
will help us. I am very glad your Latin gram- 
mar is becoming easier to you. It will be more 
and more so, the more you give your w^hole 
mind to it. God has been very kind in blessing 
you with a sound understanding ; and it would 
be sinful in you to neglect such a great bles- 
sing, and suffer your mind to go to ruin, instead 
of improving it by study, and making it beau- 
tiful, as well as useful, to yourself and others. 
It would be almost as bad as it would be for 
uncle Cabell to be so lazy himself, and to suffer 
his labourers to be so lazy, as to let his rich low 
grounds run up all in weeds, instead of corn, 
and so have no bread to give his family, and let 
them all starve and die. Now your mind is as 
rich as uncle Cabell's low grounds, and all that 
your mother and father ask of you is, that you 
will not be so idle as to let it run to weeds, but 
that you will be industrious and studious, and 
so your mind will bring a fine crop of fruits 
and flowers. Suppose there was a nest-full of 
beautiful young birds, so young that they could 
not fly and help themselves, and they were 
opening their little mouths and crying for 
something to eat and drink, and their parents 
would not bring them any thing, but were to 
let them cry on from morning till night, till 
they starved and died, would they not be very 
wicked parents ? Now, your mind is this nest- 
full of beautiful little singing birds ; much 

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176 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 

more beautiful and melodious than any canary- 
birds in the world ; and there sits fancy, and 
reason, and memory, and judgment ; all with 
their little heads thrust forward out of the nest, 
and crying as hard as they can for something 
to eat and drink. Will you not love your 
father and mother for trying to feed them with 
books and learning, the only kind of meat and 
drink they love, and without which those sweet 
little songsters must, in a few years, hang their 
heads and die ? Nay, will you not do your very 
best to help your father and mother to feed 
them, that they may grow up, get a full suit of 
fine glossy feathers, and cheer the house with 
their songs ? And, moreover, would it not be 
very wrong to feed some of them only, and 
let the rest starve ? You are very fond, when 
you get a new story-book, of running through 
it as fast as you can, just for the sake of know- 
ing what happened to this one and that one* 
In doing this, you are only feeding one of the 
four birds I have mentioned — that is, fancy, 
which, to be sure, is the loudest singer among 
them, and will please you most while you are 
young. But while you are thus feeding and 
stuffing fancy — reason, memory, and judgment 
are starving ; and yet, by-and-by, you will 
think their notes much softer and sweeter than 
those of fancy, although not so loud, and wild, 
and varied. Therefore you ought to feed those 
other birds, too. They eat a great deal slower 
than fancy ; they require the grains to be 



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LETTER TO A LITTLE GIRL. 177 

pounded in a mortar before they can get any 
food from them. That is, when you read a 
pretty story, you must not gallop over it as fast as 
you can, just to learn what happened ; but you 
must stop every now and then, and consider 
why one of the persons you are reading of is 
so much beloved, and another so much hated. 
This sort of consideration pounds the grains 
in a mortar, and feeds reason and judgment. 
Then you must determine that you will not for- 
get that story, but that you will try to remem- 
ber every part of it, that you may shape your 
own conduct by it ; doing those good actions 
which the story has told you will make people 
love you, and avoiding those evil ones which 
you find will make them hate you. This is 
feeding memory and judgment both at once. 
Memory, too, is remarkably fond of a tit-bit of 
Latin grammar ; and, though the food is hard 
to come at, yet the sweet little bird must not 
starve. The rest of them could do nothing 
without her ; for, if she was to die, they would 
never sing again, at least not so sweetly. Your 
affectionate father, 

William Wirt. 







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178 boys' and girls' scrap-book. 



HARD READING. 

" I WOULD not read such a hard book," said 

John S — — to David A . " I read easy 

books." 

"But father says this will improve my mind 
more than any of the story-books," said 
David. 

"It is not interesting, is it ?" 

" It grows interesting the more I read it. I 
think I shall like it very much." 

"I tried to read a book a good deal like that, 
and it was not at all interesting. I could not 
keep my mind upon it at all. When I got to 
the bottom of the page, I could not tell what I 
had been reading about. I want a book to be 
so interesting that I cannot think of any thing 
else till I get through with it." 

" Father says, that if my attention wanders 
when I am reading, I must go back and read 
over again the portion that I do not recollect. 
I have read some of the pages of this book a 
great many times before I could keep my atten- 
tion fixed upon the thoughts contained in 
them." 

" I do not wish to take so much trouble when 
I read. It makes it too hard work." 

The book that David was reading when John 
spoke to him as above noticed, was Watts on 
the Mind — a book which contains a great many 

L. jj 



HARD READING. 179 

judicious rules for mental culture. David's 
father had given it to his son, and requested 
him to read it carefully. There are too many- 
young persons, who, like John, read only for 
amusement. They seldom derive much benefit 
from reading. Books which were written 
merely to amuse should be avoided. No man 
who loves the young will write with no higher 
object than to afford amusement. He will aim 
to communicate useful knowledge, to illustrate 
valuable truth, or to awaken pure and lofty 
feelings within the youthful breast. 

The young must read books on subjects 
which cannot be made interesting, that is, after 
the manner required by John. Grave works 
on history, and on subjects requiring reasoning, 
must be read, if we would have strong and 
well-disciplined minds. Those who read only 
for amusement will have feeble minds. Those 
who read, thoroughly, works which compel them 
to fix the attention and exercise their under- 
standing to grasp the meaning of the author, 
will have strong minds. Robert Hall, before 
he was nine years old, read some of the pro- 
foundest works of the great Jonathan Ed- 
wards. 

Children should ask their parents or teachers 
to select for them such books as are best adapted 
to promote the growth of the mind. 

THE END 



:Q^_n 



cT-n 



J 



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